


The Skeleton Boy

by asilentherald



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Dark Merlin, Episode: s02e07 The Witchfinder, Episode: s02e08 The Sins Of The Father, F/F, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Revenge, Torture, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1235164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asilentherald/pseuds/asilentherald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunith's death breaks Merlin, cutting a gaping hole in his body and leaving him vulnerable to the crows. Not even Arthur's golden presence can stop Camelot turning on Merlin – or Merlin turning his back on Camelot, not with the hole in his chest and a desperate need to fix it consuming him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write a dark!Merlin fic for AGES, and for the last two months or so that's precisely what I've done. I had such fun writing it! (which says a lot about my twisted little brain)
> 
> HUGE thanks to M for putting up with me as I sporadically sent chapters with many lines of apologies at the end for the terrible things I did to the characters. I essentially wrote an entirely different, much lighter fic (Winter Break, if anyone's wondering) as part of one apology. Whoops. Basically I am indebted to her for the help she provided; this fic prob wouldn't be a thing if not for her. 
> 
> Anyway, I'll be posting this one chapter at a time on Monday evenings. The work is complete, so fear not, it shall not end up abandoned at any point! 
> 
> There's also a fanmix I put together: (8tracks.com/emrystiel/the-skeleton-boy-a-dark-merlin-fanmix). I'll note which songs go with each chapter in the notes at the end of the fic. 
> 
> Enjoy the ride :)

Merlin throws himself into a great pile of leaves on the side of the path. He breathes in the hearty smell of rotting leaves and rolls onto his back. Gwen is struggling to control her smile.

“Merlin,” she admonishes, “we’ve got to go.”

“They won’t miss us if we stay out here a little longer,” Merlin says, stretching. The sun is warm, a pleasant heat on his skin amid the cool air of autumn.

“I don’t know….”

“Gwen.”

She huffs and throws herself into the leaves beside him, dropping a few on Merlin’s face. He laughs.

“That’s better.”

“How’s Morgana feeling?” Merlin asks.

“She’s had better days,” Gwen responds. She grimaces. “She’s sleeping even less. She’s sad so much of the time.”

Merlin can’t help but think of when she ran off to the druid camp and he’d brought her back. His chest hurts at the thought of being in her position, at the fact that he can’t do anything to comfort her, not really.

“Maybe we should try and cheer her up,” Merlin suggests. “What about a picnic, before it gets too cold? We can get her favorite cakes from the kitchens—oh! What about going on a trip somewhere?”

“Where would we take her?” Gwen asks.

“Anywhere,” Merlin grins. “Getting out of Camelot for a while might be nice.”

“For you or for her?” she teases.

“I wouldn’t mind leaving Arthur’s smelly socks behind for a while.”

“Wouldn’t Arthur come with us?” Gwen asks. “Uther wouldn’t let her go without at least a few knights, or Arthur.”

Merlin makes a face.

“I suppose he can come.”

“He’ll be thrilled he has your approval, Merlin,” Gwen giggles. She rises up from the leaves and shakes a few out of her hair. “We ought to go back. It’s nearly time for dinner.”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

Merlin carefully bundles up the herbs and flowers they collected that afternoon. They make their way back slowly, just as the sun starts to set. When they get closer to Camelot, Merlin feels in the air that something isn’t quite right. He pauses.

“What is it?” Gwen asks.

“Something’s—it’s a little quiet, don’t you think?”

The streets of the lower town are hushed, rather than quiet. No, the silence is definitely uncomfortable, unwelcome. The closer they get to the courtyard, the more Merlin feels like the gaping pit in his stomach might swallow him whole. Gwen must notice it; she latches onto his arm and they walk up the hill together.

Just within the courtyard, they find the crowd, still silenced, and mostly unmoving. On the balcony, Uther rustles about. He scans the crowd, then turns away and walks inside with Arthur on his heels.

Merlin is about to comment on how Arthur looks a little unwell when he sees just what happened.

They’re taking down the gallows. The rope slung over the top goes lax and one of the executioners catches the body, dropping it on the platform with a careless thump. Merlin starts to move through the crowd, his lips pressed tightly together, to keep himself from being sick.

He knows he’ll never get used to this, no matter how long he’ll be in Camelot under Uther’s laws. Sometimes he wakes in the night in a sweat, shaking, feeling like he’s coming apart, like fire burns under his skin and rents him into a million pieces, and he just can’t get it out. He waits it out, but the fire fades to embers. It never truly goes out. He knows it’s always there, waiting for him in case he slips up. Worse is when he’s actually on a pyre in his dreams and Arthur’s tying him up there.

It’s one of his greatest fears, other than—

Morgana appears out of nowhere.

“Merlin,” she hisses through a frail smile, her fingers digging into his arms. “Come with me.”

“Er. All right?”

She’s turning him around when he glances back. The crowd seems to part for him, and he sees her on the platform, her eyes half-open, her neck broken and already mottled with bruises. Her mouth is almost puckered into a kiss that should be on Merlin’s cheek, not stained red with blood. Some of it dribbles down her chin on and drips onto the platform.

“No.”

He’s moving, and then he’s not.  Morgana is calling out to Gwen. People are shifting all around him, he thinks, but Merlin doesn’t see any of it. Morgana’s hand on his upper arm is an anchor, but he’s struggling. He’s reaching, and he thinks he might be shouting. He knows he’s crying, but how can he not? He feels like he’s on fire. He _wishes_ he were on fire.  

Then it’s dark and cold, like the walls of the castle, and the earth is shaking. He knows he’s not there, mere feet away from her body cursorily covered with a white cloth, her clothes still dirty from working Ealdor’s fields, but she’s all he sees.

Merlin tears out of Morgana’s grip, only to meet a wall. The ground shakes harder. He slides down, and hears glass shattering. Some shards swipe across his face, and it’s refreshing, like rain.

Slowly, he starts to breathe again. He exhales and exhales, and he can’t stop _crying_ , and he’s hoping if he blows all the air out of his body, maybe he’ll stop the pain. When he does manage to stop, he’s free of it, but he feels the hole it rent in him. It wants him. It wants his whole self. What a demanding thing it is, his grief, taking him over with almost supernatural precision.

He opens his eyes and sees the rubble and glass around him. Morgana is sitting a few feet away, curled up against the opposite wall. She’s watching him warily, a shard of glass in her hand outstretched like a knife.

“You have magic,” she whispers. Merlin looks around. He doesn’t feel scared or worried. He doesn’t feel anything at all, so he nods.

“I do.”

“I won’t tell.”

“I know you won’t,” Merlin said evenly. The look of pity on Morgana’s face is almost angering. Almost. Merlin sighs.

“I’m sorry you had to see this,” he says, waving vaguely at the mess.

“Don’t be. It’s all right to be scared and angry,” she says. She moves a few pieces of glass out of the way and edges closer to him. “You deserve to be.”

Merlin shakes his head.

“I need to go get Arthur’s dinner,” Merlin states. He stands up and offers Morgana a hand. He looks around. “I should fix this.”

He waves a hand, ignoring Morgana watching him raptly, and in moments it’s as if Merlin’s grief never happened. It’s still raining, though. Lightning still lights up the sky between clouds warring like knights in a tournament. Morgana still watches him.

“Thanks for helping, my lady,” Merlin murmurs. He pushes his hands into his pockets and walks away. Morgana lets him.

He wishes there’s another way to get to Arthur’s chambers than through the courtyard, but there isn’t. Thankfully, it’s empty and there’s not a trace of the execution there. Merlin wonders where Gaius is. He wonders what the hell happened in those few hours when he’d been out with Gwen.

Merlin pauses, balancing the tray with one hand to wipe at his eyes and steady his breathing. He peers around the corner and catches a flash of his mother dead on the platform in his mind’s eye. He exhales and walks on.

He knocks at Arthur’s door and gets a quiet, “Enter.” Merlin closed the door softly and puts Arthur food on the table wordlessly. Arthur doesn’t look up from his papers.

“You can go.”

Merlin makes to leave.

“Merlin?”

He turns. Arthur’s face is pale and drawn. He looks confused.

“I sent word that you didn’t need to work tonight,” he says, frowning.

“I didn’t get the message,” Merlin says. His voice comes out steady. He prides himself in that accomplishment silently. Arthur stands up and crosses the room to where he stands.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Truly.”

“What happened?” he asks. He counts the number of flagstones under their feet.

“Merlin, are you—are you okay?”

He looks at Arthur then. Whatever Arthur planned to say next visibly dies on his lips. He sighs, hunches, and shakes his head. Arthur’s hand rests on his shoulder and gives him a light shake. It’s probably supposed to console him.

“Go rest. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Do you really think I can rest without knowing why your father executed my mother?”

Arthur recoils and bites into his lip. He blinks rapidly.

“No.”

“Tell me, and I’ll go.”

“Merlin—”

“Tell me, or I’m leaving, and I won’t come back,” Merlin says. He knows some part of him doesn’t mean it, but most of him does. Arthur clearly sees it.

“Someone tipped off a patrol by the border that a woman was using sorcery,” Arthur says. “They brought her in with evidence. Gaius—Gaius couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Did you?”

“Merlin.”

“Did you even try?”

“Of course I did! Your mother was a good woman. I fought my father on it until the last second,” Arthur says, shaking. Hell, the whole room seems to be shaking. “What kind of person do you take me for if you think I didn’t at least try?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Merlin says. His anger recedes into the hole, but its embers still smolder. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

“I wish I could’ve saved her,” Arthur says. His eyes are wet. Merlin turns away, backs up a few steps. When he looks at him again, Arthur’s whole body is tense, coiled, ready to move, but his face speaks volumes, and it’s like Merlin’s looking in a mirror.

“It’s not your fault,” Merlin says. He knows Arthur’s mind is half on his own mother, that maybe he’s upset about this on the surface, but at the end of the day he’s always mourning her, always wishing he hadn’t killed her. He’s not really upset about what happened that day, the dark hole says. Merlin nods.

“It—”

“It’s not. You did everything you could,” Merlin says. He folds his hands behind his back. “If that’s everything, I’d like to go speak to Gaius.”

Merlin’s hand is on the door before Arthur’s voice cuts through the silence.

“Merlin,” he says. He turns around. Something shifts, and he says, “Your job is safe. I made sure of it. And… I’ll do anything to make sure you’re comfortable.”

Merlin nods, hoping it conveys thanks. He sighs, and he leaves.

 

* * *

 

She’s on the table in Gaius’s chambers when he arrives. Gaius is sitting silently beside her. Merlin loses it again. He’s not quite angry anymore, but he’s suddenly overwhelmed with feeling when he’d been so devoid of it since leaving Morgana’s company. Gaius holds onto him as he cries, and when he pulls back, Gaius looks like he doesn’t have the energy left in him to cry.

“My boy,” he says, broken.

“We need to bury her,” he states, rising from his seat.

“Uther was good enough to let us keep her body.”

Merlin scoffs. “I don’t want to hear _Uther_ and _good_ in the same sentence,” he says. Gaius says nothing. Merlin pulls out a few large sheets and starts wrapping up her body.

“You’re going now?”

“As good a time as any,” Merlin grunts, heaving her into his arms. He whispers a spell and she’s much easier to carry. Gaius doesn’t move.

“I can’t,” he says. “Merlin, I can’t.”

Merlin understands. He lets Gaius close the door behind him.

He meets Gwen on the way out of the citadel. She nearly hugs him, but she can’t quite get around the body in his arms. So she walks with him out of Camelot for the second time that day, not saying a word, tears quietly filling her eyes. Her presence is enough for him.

Merlin considers going all the way to Ealdor, but he knows he won’t make it back in time for breakfast. He can’t stand the thought of her being far from him, not now. So he buries her in the Darkling Wood, marking the grave, even though those condemned as sorcerers were not legally allowed the honor. He puts her in a place he knows he’ll see it, right by where he often goes to collect herbs for Gaius.

“She was framed,” Merlin says eventually. Gwen looks up at him. “I know it. She never used magic. She never had magic to use.”

Gwen doesn’t reply. She’s surely remembering what happened to her father not too long ago. Merlin’s head hangs, his eyes fixed on the grave marker.

“I’ll find who did this,” Merlin says.

“I—”

“Don’t. Please don’t tell me it’s a bad idea. I already know,” Merlin says with a tiny laugh. Gwen’s sad composure doesn’t crack.

“It won’t solve anything.”

“It will if they mean ill to others. This wasn’t random. I know it.”

“Merlin….”

“I won’t be stupid about it,” he vows. Gwen wraps her arms around him and hugs him close. Her hair smells sweet and nice. “I won’t do anything until I know for sure.”

“Promise?”

He nods.

“Good.”

They go back to Camelot in almost total silence. She apologizes for not being there when he saw; Morgana apparently had her go find Arthur and let him know that he’d seen. Merlin thanks her softly and kisses the top of her head when they part ways.

 

* * *

 

Merlin goes about the next week as he usually does, minus talking. He can’t find anything to say, really, and it unnerves Arthur, but not in an amusing way. Arthur’s quiet, too, and he walks on eggshells around him. It starts to anger him. It’s as if he thinks he’s to blame. Merlin _knows_ that’s not the case—Uther’s to blame, he’s always to blame—but some small part of him starts to sour and curdle around Arthur.

The days grow cold, but Merlin’s still out on the pitch with Arthur and his knights. He watches, and in that time he can almost forget about what happened. This is something normal. _This_ is steady and unchanging, the clanging of swords, the grunts and the gasps when someone lands a blow. Arthur always comes out victorious, but it’s not quite right; he doesn’t look at Merlin like he always does when he wins and beams. He glances, and his smile strains. He works his knights even harder.

Merlin avoids Morgana at all costs. He decides it’s instinct. But then Gwen corners him after he weasels out of three separate requests from Morgana to see her in her chambers.

“Morgana loves the idea of getting away for a little while. She’s spoken to Uther and he’s agreed to it,” Gwen explains.

“Er.”

“You’re not getting out of this,” Gwen warns. “Arthur already knows, apparently.”

“Great,” Merlin mutters.

“Is he… are you both okay?” she asks.

“Fine, I guess.”

Gwen purses her lips, meaning she clearly doesn’t believe him. Merlin can’t be bothered about it.

“Morgana wants you to come by for dinner tonight. I wouldn’t turn her down,” Gwen says. Merlin nods, says he’ll be there, and he grins. He can’t exactly worm out of this now. “Are _you_ all right?”

“Not really,” Merlin says, “but I’ll be okay.”

His dreams feature his mother more than anything now. He burns with her. Merlin doesn’t get much sleep these days, and when he does, he wakes up feeling worse than before, like he’s slid a little further down the hole.

Merlin sits in Arthur’s chambers and polishes his armor while Arthur attends a meeting with Uther. He’s meticulous. He takes his time. The last thing he wants is for Arthur not to be protected from his assailants, even if they’re just his knights during training.

“Merlin!”

He looks up as Arthur storms into the room, stripping off his jacket as he walks.

“I need a bath,” he says.

“You’ve come from a meeting, not training,” Merlin frowns.

“I still need a bath,” he grits out. “Go.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and leaves the armor behind. When he returns, Arthur’s nowhere to be found. He fills the basin up and heats the water with his magic. He pokes at the fire and makes a show of warming up one more bucket of water over the flames.

Arthur returns and silently strips away his clothes. He gets into the bath and soaks for a long time before speaking up.

“Hand me the soap,” he says. Merlin obeys. He grabs Merlin’s wrist. “Sit. There’s something I want to discuss.”

“While you’re bathing?” Merlin retorts. He pulls up a chair next to the basin anyway.

“Shut up, Merlin. I hear you’re dining with Morgana once I’m done with you, so I figure now’s the best time,” he says, his voice tight.

“What is it?”

“I wanted to know how you’re doing. Coping,” he clarifies. Merlin lets out an angry sound, visibly startling Arthur.

“Why does everyone keep asking? I’m fine. I’m doing my job, aren’t I?”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Arthur says.

“You? Worried about me?”

“I never said that,” he says hastily. Merlin knows he’s wearing a silly grin, but he can’t help it. Arthur splashes water at him. “Hey!”

“You deserved it.”

“Prat.”

“You can’t call me that,” he says, even though he’s laughing.

“Prince Prat, my lord,” Merlin corrects. He suddenly finds he can’t quite stop laughing. It hurts his whole body, especially his stomach and his face. Arthur seems vaguely pleased.

“It wasn’t _that_ funny,” he says.

“Not really,” Merlin admits.

“We’re going on a trip, I hear,” Arthur goes on. “Morgana wants a change of scenery. Uther’s letting her go on the condition that I accompany her.”

“It was my idea,” Merlin says brightly. Arthur splashes him again. “Augh! Quit that!”

“We’re leaving at dawn the day after tomorrow, so you’ll need to pack for us soon,” he says.

“Where are we going?”

“Morgana’s deciding, apparently,” Arthur says, pulling a face. “God help us all.”

“How is your father okay with just letting us go?”

“Morgana has her ways,” he says, shaking his head. “She’s a terror. Why are you dining with her, anyway?”

Merlin nearly drops the cloth in his hands into the tub. Arthur smirks.

“Not sure,” he hastily responds. “It’s probably got to do with the trip.”

“Right.”

“Why does it sound like you don’t believe me?”

“I don’t,” Arthur says cheerfully. “You’re a terrible liar, Merlin.”

He snorts at that.

“Get the cloth, will you? Then get my dinner and you’ll be free to go,” Arthur says, rising from the water. Merlin turns away and hands the cloth to him; he slips out before Arthur’s finished drying himself off.

Out in the corridor, he feels the weight settle back on his shoulders. Perhaps that’s why he’s been keeping to Arthur’s chambers so much—in spite of the awkward tension between them, Arthur is still a comfort to him, still a little bit of hope he can nurture. He’s clinging to it, as always, but out in the cold corridor, he feels like it’s slipping further away with every day.

The hole in him isn’t getting smaller, Merlin realizes. He’s only getting better at hiding it. He hopes he’ll figure out a way to stopper it up soon.

 

* * *

 

Morgana welcomes him graciously like any lady of the court, even though he’s just a servant. There’s a slight quiver in her smile, though, that betrays the grace of her movements. Gwen is arranging a vase of fresh flowers on a table when he arrives. She smiles at him.

“That’ll be all, Gwen,” she says. Gwen nods and leaves. “I told her we can manage on our own tonight.”

“Of course,” he says. He thinks he’ll end up serving, as a servant should, but Morgana means it. She takes care of herself and lets Merlin do the same. They sit around the corner of the table nearest the window and eat quietly. Merlin hasn’t had a proper meal from the kitchens in a long time. It’s almost too good.

“I want you to teach me magic,” Morgana says, once she sets her fork down. Merlin chokes on the pork. She hands him his cup of watered wine and waits patiently.

“You want what?” he coughed.

“Teach me. You’re powerful; I felt it. Merlin, I’ve never felt anything like that,” she says, leaning closer, lowering her voice. “It was terrifying, but I can’t feel it now. You hide it so well.”

“It’s all I am,” he says, and she seems to understand. She sits back.

“Please, Merlin. I don’t have anyone else.”

“Uther could find out,” Merlin says. “I’d lose my head before he’d even clap you in chains.”

Morgana’s hopeful glint sobered.

“I know. It’s a terrible risk I’m asking you to take,” she says, “but you’re _here_ , in Camelot. Why on earth would you come here?”

“I… couldn’t stay in Ealdor anymore. I didn’t fit in,” he said, shifting in his seat. “My mum wanted me to find someone who could help me control my magic, so she sent me to Gaius.”

He’s surprised at how calm he sounds, talking about her. Morgana softens.

“Gaius… doesn’t want me to help you,” Merlin adds. She frowns. “He fears what Uther would do if he learned about your magic.”

“Don’t we all,” she mutters.

“Will you let me consider it?” Merlin asks. She looks up. “I don’t know much. I’ve got a book… but I just make things up. I never used real spells until I came here. Everything was instinct.”

“How long have you been able to do this?”

“Since I was born.”

Morgana looks sufficiently awed. Merlin starts to smile. He’s never seen her like this, humbled, happy, hopeful. It’s so different from the way she’s been the entire time he’s been in Camelot. This Morgana isn’t quite so angry and scared.

“I’ll help you,” he blurts. “I’ll do it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

She takes his hand in hers and squeezes, sending a bright shock right through him. He grins even more widely.

“There’s one more thing—I was planning on using it as a bargaining chip, but since there’s no need….”

She stands and retrieves a folded piece of paper from within her drawers. Morgana hands it to Merlin. It’s a map with a few marks on it, and there’s a scrap of paper in the folds with Morgana’s writing on it.

“I copied it from the patrol report. That’s where they found the man who reported your mother, and that’s how they described him,” Morgana says, pointing. She moves her finger to a castle on the map about half a day’s walk from the first spot. “That’s where we’ll be going.”

Abruptly, Merlin understands.

“We’re going to find him,” she says with steely conviction. “He’ll pay for what he did. We’ll be there for two weeks, so we’ll have plenty of time to track him down.”

_Plenty of time to kill him_ , she means.

“I don’t know about this,” he starts.

“Don’t you at least want to know why?”

“Of course, but—”

“I don’t see the problem here,” Morgana says. “I’d want the man dead if I were you.”

“It’s not that I don’t, it’s just… it’s done, isn’t it? What good will killing him do?”

“It’ll do you good,” Morgana states. “If you do it, do it for yourself. Not for me or anyone else. Like you said, if you do it for your mother, it won’t help or harm her. It’s only going to affect you, so it might as well be _for_ you.”

“We can look into it, I suppose,” Merlin says tentatively. “But if I decide to stop, we stop. Okay?”

Morgana smirks. “Yes, sir.”

“Can you tell me what you know?”

That small part of him that liked the idea of finding and killing the man, the part that had been so vocal and strong in the first few days following the execution—by the time Morgana was finished regaling him with the information she’d wheedled out of Uther and from the knights for him ( _for him!_ ), that small part was not so small. It was overwhelming, and when Merlin left her chambers, he didn’t feel like there was any other way to satisfy that small part of him, to stopper up that gaping, hungry hole, than to find the bastard and let him feel his pain.

 

* * *

 

It’s startlingly simple, in the end. They spend two frustrating weeks sneaking off to the town, questioning locals, tracking down leads. In the meantime, Arthur hunts, dragging Merlin with him every time. He nearly pushes Merlin into a stream once, which could have resulted in hypothermia or worse, but Arthur only laughed, illuminated by the bright, bleak sunlight. They eat a lot of good food and drink plenty of wine. They spend many nights talking by the fire, their tongues loosened by alcohol, warm and comfortable. For the first time since Hunith’s death, Merlin feels entirely happy and at ease with Arthur, and Arthur is in the best mood Merlin’s observed in weeks.

The fruitlessness of the search is disheartening, though, so that Merlin and Morgana are equally perturbed and sullen when they depart for Camelot. Arthur and Gwen are too content with the world to notice. On their way back when they stop to rest somewhere do they hear whispers of the man’s name. Morgana’s head jumps up from her dinner, and Merlin’s already on his feet, excusing himself. Morgana follows shortly afterwards.

“The Willow Inn, yes?” she says when she finds him loitering around the corner of the tavern. Merlin peers back in through the window; Arthur and Gwen both look bewildered, but they laugh at something and go back to their food, smiling again. Arthur’s smile is stunning when it’s directed at Gwen. Merlin turns back to Morgana.

He thinks his blood is on fire. He digs his nails into his palms to steady himself.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Her hand is on the knife at her waist. She hands another one to Merlin as they make their way down the street. All Morgana needs to do is ask for information and it’s handed to her on a silver platter. They don’t even need to resort to bribery this time.

He’s staying in Room Four upstairs, they learn. Merlin is calm when they open the door. The man is at the desk, scribbling a note. He turns at the sound and makes for the window. Merlin slams it shut with his magic and locks the door.

“You’re one of Kanen’s men,” he realizes.

“Hunith’s boy.”

Merlin throws the knife, just like Morgana taught him, and lets it hover at the man’s throat. He backs him up against the wall before walking up to him.

“Was it revenge?” he asks.

“We’re all broke because of you and her,” he spits. “Of course it was bloody revenge.”

Merlin grabs the knife and cuts his throat without a moment’s hesitation.

“You’ll be familiar with the idea, then,” he says belatedly. He steps back and wipes the blood off of his hands on the man’s shirt. It’s all over so fast, it’s almost disappointing.

“You could’ve found out more from him,” Morgana says, startling him out of his thoughts.

“I wanted it over.”

“But—”

“No, Morgana. There’s no honor in drawing this out,” Merlin says. She purses her lips, holding back what’s surely a surly retort. _What does a servant know of honor?_

“We should go,” Morgana eventually says.

Merlin nods, not ready to look away from the corpse. Merlin’s gaze rests on the knife in his hand. The blood is virulent red in the dim light. It almost seems to pulse as the candlelight wavers.

“How do you feel?”

“The same, but… different.”

_Disconnected_.

Merlin stops her. “Throw the knife at the wall and stop it with your magic,” he says. She’s tried it before a handful of times, but never with a knife. She hesitates. He gentles the grip on her wrist. “Trust your magic. It won’t hurt you. It’s not a bad thing.”

She lets out a slow breath. Her face darkens.

“Uther’s teachings aren’t easy to forget,” she says tightly.

“I know.”

She throws it with a tiny snarl and stops it hardly a hair from the wall. It hovers weakly before falling to the ground. Merlin beams.

“Great job!”

“I have a good teacher,” she says kindly. “It helps, seeing you do magic. I can feel what it’s supposed to feel like.”

Morgana loops her arm through Merlin’s and leads him out. They close the door behind them and leave the inn. No on stops them. Merlin doesn’t bother cleaning off his knife; it’s a good weight at his side, and somehow it’s comforting having evidence that it was done.

He still feels different, but he doesn’t know why. Morgana is happy, though. Morgana is happier than Merlin has ever known her, and it’s because of him. He’s proud of that.

Gwen and Arthur are gone from the tavern when they return, so they retire. Arthur is just getting into bed.

“Where’ve you been?” he demands, whirling around at the sound of the door opening and the floorboards creaking under his weight.

“Walking.”

“At this hour?”

Merlin shrugs. He removes his jacket and wraps the knife in it with his back turned to Arthur.

“With _Morgana_?”

He shrugs again. Arthur lets out an exasperated sound.

“ _Mer_ lin,” he says. “I know you’ve got a bit of a crush on Morgana, but this is getting inappropriate. She’s got claws. You’re asking to be ripped apart.”

Merlin has to laugh at that.

“It’s not—I don’t fancy her!”

“Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t. I don’t—”

He stops himself. He’s already strange enough in Arthur’s eyes. Sure, Morgana is beautiful and he feels attracted to her, but he’s only ever truly felt anything for men. He doesn’t think Arthur would understand, so he shuts his mouth and gets ready to sleep.

“Hang on.”

Arthur’s out of bed and grabbing Merlin before he can stop him.

“Hey!”

“Is that _blood_?”

He points at a dark patch on Merlin’s outer thigh—where he’d carelessly rubbed his hand earlier. Then Arthur’s prodding at the spot; it comes away damp.

“Are you okay?” he asks. He fixes his bright blue eyes on Merlin, searching for _something_. The tension in his mouth makes him look worried.

Merlin’s stunned into silence.

“Talk, Merlin!”

“I’m fine!” he bursts. “Why don’t any of you believe me when I say that?”

Arthur stiffens. They’re not talking about the blood anymore, apparently.

“Your mother _died_ ,” Arthur says. Merlin bristles. “You’re _not_ fine, no matter how much you pretend.”

“I am! I am.”

“I don’t believe you,” he drawls.

“You should. I am.”

“Now?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you and Morgana have been randomly leaving this whole time we’ve been out here! Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“You mean Gwen noticed, and she told you,” Merlin interjected. Arthur’s face was red and angry now.

“You’re—you’re insufferable.”

“That’s new.”

“Merlin! I’m trying—”

“What? You’re trying to what?”

Arthur stops short.

“I’m trying to help.”

“That time’s passed,” he hears himself say. The hurt that crosses Arthur’s face almost makes Merlin take it back, but he doesn’t. He holds his ground. “I get you couldn’t do anything about it, but I can’t just stand by. I had to do _something_.”

“You found the informant?” Arthur asks.

Merlin nods. No use lying about it now.

“And, what?”

“He’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yes. You know what that word means.”

“ _You_ killed him?”

“He’s not the first person I’ve killed,” Merlin says simply. He slips away from Arthur and climbs into bed before he can do anything else. He looked over his shoulder. Arthur’s just standing, not having moved. He looks even more upset than he did when they’d talked on the day his mother died.

Merlin rolls over and closes his eyes, his heart thumping noisily in his chest. Arthur blows the candle out. The bed next to him creaks and sags, but Arthur says nothing more.

 

* * *

 

After they return to Camelot, Merlin takes to teaching Morgana magic in the privacy of her chambers often enough to warrant suspicious looks from Gwen. Arthur doesn’t comment on his increasingly frequent absences since he spends the rest of the time in his chambers anyway. Then again, Arthur doesn’t quite meet his eye anymore. Merlin knows it would have hurt him deeply a few weeks ago, but now his heart is hard as iron. He doesn’t feel it quite the same way.

Morgana progresses rapidly, and the more they practice, the easier her nights become. She actually sleeps, once in a while, even if only for a few hours. Merlin tells Gaius that his most recent concoction is working and he doubles up. He and Morgana end up pouring it out the window every evening and then using the bottles as practice targets.

“Why do you care for Arthur so much?” she asks one day on a particularly cold day in winter. They made several small fires in some of her spare bottles. Merlin lights the fireplace with ease; Morgana’s skills aren’t quite there yet.

“He’s a good man,” he says. “He’ll be the greatest king Albion’s ever known.”

“Do you really believe that? He’s like Uther,” Morgana says.

“He’s not,” Merlin shakes his head. “He’s better than him; you know it. I’m going to show him someday that magic’s nothing to fear.”

“But not any time soon?”

“It’s not right yet,” he says wistfully. “I want to tell him more than anyone.”

“I know,” she says gently. She touches his hand consolingly. They move closer to the fire. “What would he do if he knew about me?”

“He’d… panic first, I think. But he’d be okay with you. He’d want to protect you,” Merlin says. “He loves you like a sister.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“There’s a dragon under the castle. He tells me I’m going to help Arthur be this great king and bring magic back to Camelot.”

“You believe the dragon?”

Merlin grins. He feels better now, after all this time. The fire is starting to thaw the chill at his core. He hands Morgana one of the bottles.

“See if you can get this to your bed,” Merlin instructs. “Focus. Trust your magic.”

She gets it halfway across the room before Arthur’s voice startles them both.

“Merlin!”

He bursts into the room. They’re both on their feet before he reaches them. Arthur looks between them several times.

“What is it, Arthur?” Morgana demands.

“Did something break?” he asks, looking around. He sees the remains of the bottle on the floor behind him.

“Is there something you need?” she asks sweetly.

“Yes. My servant. Merlin, you’re supposed to be dressing me for the banquet tonight,” he growls, dragging Merlin bodily across the room, ignoring all words of protest. He swears he hears Morgana laughing as they leave.

Arthur doesn’t release him until they reach the first empty alcove between Morgana’s chambers and his. He shoves Merlin against the wall and crowds in around him. He hits his head against he stone.

“Ow.”

“Merlin. Whatever’s going on with you and Morgana, it has to stop,” Arthur says in a low voice. He stills. “Gwen says my father’s noticed more than once.”

“What? How?”

“Something about Morgana _glowing_ , looking happy or something,” he says, shaking his head. He makes a disgusted face. “It’s inappropriate. Put an end to it.”

“I already told you! It’s not like that!”

“Then what, do tell, are you doing in there every night?”

Merlin shut his mouth.

“I can’t tell you.”

“You can’t—you _can’t tell me_? I’m your master. I command it.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and pushed Arthur away.

“Aren’t you going to be late?”

“There is no banquet you buffoon! I made it up! Shows where your mind’s been the last few days,” Arthur shouts. He drags Merlin out of the alcove by the sleeve. “Come on. You’re going to clean all my armor again right now, and I’m going to watch. You’re not dismissed until you’re done.”

“It’s late!”

“Exactly.”

They’re at Arthur’s chambers when it hits him.

“Are you _jealous_?” Merlin asks. Arthur rounds on him and laughs coldly. It’s an ugly sound, coming from him.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You missed me.”

“I required your services,” he says, pushing his armor into Merlin’s chest. “Now serve.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin smirks.

He settles into the chair and deliberately takes his time. Every time Arthur starts to nod off, he clangs the metal pieces together and makes a half-hearted apology. Arthur glares before going back to his reading. It’s well into the night when Merlin puts the last shining piece of armor on the table and the rag down beside it. He sits back.

“Finished.”

Arthur glares even harder.

“I meant it, Merlin,” he says. “Whatever you’re doing… stop.”

Merlin’s grin hardens.

“It’s my free time. I can do what I want,” he says.

“What you do in your free time reflects what I allow you to do,” Arthur says insistently, “and if you keep getting caught leaving Morgana’s chambers at hours like this, we’re all going to be miserable.”

“Then I’m not going to get caught anymore.”

“Are you admitting to it?”

“To what?” he asks innocently. “Bedding her?”

Arthur turns scarlet.

“I’m _not_.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“I’ve seen how you look at her! You’re like every other lovestruck man at court. She’s beautiful. What I don’t understand—”

“Why she’d let _me_ in? Is that it?” Merlin stands up. “No, I don’t think you would.”

“That’s not—”

“No, it is,” Merlin says. He sighs. There’s no use arguing with him. “I’ve told you. It’s not like that. Morgana’s my friend.”

“I don’t—”

“Understand?” Merlin says. “Hardly surprising.”

“ _Merlin_.”

“No, don’t strain yourself, sire. Just go to bed.”

He sets out Arthur’s sleep clothes as he speaks.

“There is a real banquet tomorrow, though; I did remember that,” Merlin adds. “So I’ll have your clothes ready for you with a bath once you’re done with training the knights.”

Arthur’s watching him, like he’s waiting for something, either for Merlin to do something or for his own mouth to say something. Merlin waits. He gives him the opportunity, but Arthur lets it go.

“Good night, Merlin.”

“Night, Arthur.”

 

* * *

 

They start going out to the Darkling Wood instead, even in the winter. Morgana takes Gwen out for walks sometimes, and Merlin times his herb searches carefully. She’s progressing, getting a better grip on her magic. He watches the darkness disappear from under her eyes every day.

One day Morgana tells him she’ll stay in, to keep Uther happy and off their backs, and he goes out to gather wood with bunch of other people from the lower town. He makes the smoke dance without thinking, and someone sees.

Uther calls in a man called the Witchfinder not a day later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Depictions of torture, ahoy!

Merlin can feel Aredian’s eyes fix on him when Gaius introduces them, and he doesn’t feel them leave him, even after they’ve parted ways. Merlin doesn’t risk going to see Morgana, not if Aredian suspects him. Merlin keeps to himself, keep working, keeps beating himself over the head for making such a _stupid_ mistake and endangering them all.

Aredian questions him. Merlin does his best to stay calm and not give himself away, but Aredian seems to know anyway. His eyes never leave him, even as he dusts the ink on his page of notes. The dungeon is cold. The metal devices around them are even colder; they radiate emptiness. Merlin shivers in the chair.

“Can you prove that it wasn’t?”

“No.”

“Hmm. That’ll be all.”

Merlin stands to leave.

“For now.”

He looks back and Aredian’s lips are curling into a cruel, gleeful smile. Merlin runs.

When they all gather at court to hear the latest accusations, Aredian asserts he has a suspect. The panic is plain on Morgana’s face, but he can’t do anything to assure her it’s okay.

“The boy, Merlin!” Aredian shouts, pointing. There’s mirth in his eyes. Merlin glares back. He tells them he has nothing to hide and lets the guards take him away, carefully avoiding the eyes of all his friends. He and Gaius had hid the book well before Aredian even arrived.

Gaius takes his place when they find evidence in the form of a magical artifact. If Merlin had known this would happen, he would have refused to leave the cell. Merlin finds their chambers in total ruin. He pads through, stepping over broken pottery and torn up pages from different books and stacks that had no business being mixed up.

Merlin takes a few and places them on the table before it’s too much. His magic boils up like vomit and bursts forth. A table flies back; more bottles shatter and liquids of all colors and smells decorate the floor. Papers flutter at his feet. The corner of one sheet soaks up a blue liquid. It disintegrates. Merlin lets his magic burn it up before sinking to the floor, ignoring the prods of broken glass, and letting emotions overwhelm him. Only now he realizes how much he’s been holding back, storing away, since he and Morgana tracked down the man who framed his mother. It hasn’t healed him; it’s moved that hole aside, out of sight, but not out of him. It’s there, eating away at him, only now it’s behind him where he can’t watch it. When Merlin glances inward, he doesn’t see anything he recognizes of his old self. He doesn’t see anything at all beyond the scar tissue.

The next few days pass in a blur. Merlin does everything he can to find a way to Gaius to set him free, but he’s locked away deep in the castle. The whole court holds its breath. Some of them look more haunted than usual, surely remembering the days of the Great Purge.

Arthur is more distant than usual. He twists the ring on his thumb more often than usual; Merlin wants to cover his hands with his own and smooth away the worry under his skin. It’d be pointless though when Merlin has enough worry of his own. Merlin keeps to himself, and Arthur hardly seems to notice, except in the few instances when Merlin catches him watching out of the corner of his eye, twisting the ring on his thumb. He’s always so deep in though that he never even notices Merlin catching him.

When they’re all called to the court next, Gaius confesses. It’s not that Merlin can believe what’s happening—it’s that he can imagine all too well what Aredian had to do to Gaius to get him to confess. His blood _sings_ under his skin, and it comes out through his mouth. He shouts, and then Arthur pounces, dragging him out, muffling him.

They end up in the dungeons. Merlin wrestles free and twists to punch Arthur. He catches his fist easily and twists his arm behind his back. It’s all too familiar.

“Argh! Let me go!”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Arthur says almost soothingly but for the urgent edge in his voice. “I know you’re angry and upset. I’m not arresting you.”

“Then what are you doing?” Merlin hisses.

“Breaking the law.”

Arthur releases him and finds the keys on his belt. Merlin stares.

“I don’t understand,” Merlin says.

Arthur rolls his eyes and walks him down to Gaius’s cell.

“I can only give you a few minutes,” Arthur says. Merlin pauses. He wants to thank him, but Arthur seems to understand anyway with a tiny nod and an almost nervous glance back over his shoulder at him.

Later, after Merlin knows for certain that it’s all a hoax, he serves Arthur his dinner. He’s reading at his desk when Merlin enters with a tray of hot soup and meat and fresh fruit. Arthur looks up and makes it halfway through a smile.

“How is he?” Arthur asks.

Merlin doesn’t respond at first. He sets the tray down and twists a stray threat hanging off the edge of his sleeve. Arthur kicks out the chair beside him and waits. Merlin sits, then steals a few grapes off of Arthur’s plate.

“It wasn’t his, Arthur,” Merlin says. “It wasn’t mine, either.”

“How did it get there, then?”

“Aredian planted it,” he states.

“That’s a hefty accusation,” Arthur pauses to slurp up some soup in a very princely manner. Merlin smiles at the way the soup dribbles down his chin. He tosses a clean napkin at him.

“Are you certain?”

“I don’t have proof, but—”

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupts He puts his utensils down with a clatter. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, _don’t_. Aredian is not the kind of man you want to cross.”

“You’ve only just met him, too!”

“Yes, but I’ve heard enough from my father to know he’s very good at what he does.”

“I have nothing to hide from him.”

“He’s already accused you!”

“I’m not—he won’t find me guilty,” Merlin lies.

“Aredian’s job is to find people guilty of sorcery. To find them as such, not to actually find real sorcerers,” Arthur states. “He’s dangerous and influential enough that he’ll make you confess and have you killed if he really wants you dead.”

“So you knew this? And you’ve still let Gaius be condemned?” Merlin exclaims.

“What do you want me to do? My father—”

“Your father damned a loyal friend to die,” Merlin says. He stands. “I’ll find proof, Arthur. You’ll see.”

“You—I don’t want you to get hurt,” Arthur says, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him close. Arthur looks up at him from his seat, his eyes wide and blue and maybe afraid, but it might just be the reflection of the flickering candlelight. “He’s marked you, alright? He’ll hurt you if you give him a reason.”

“I don’t care,” Merlin says, wrenching his hand away. Arthur’s hand draws back as though he’d just scalded him. “I don’t care what it takes; I won’t lose Gaius, too.”

Arthur looks away. Merlin takes his chance and leaves. Outside of the warmth of Arthur’s chambers, the air is bone-cold, and it feeds the hole in his chest, cracking it wider. It gives him more room to breathe.

Halfway to his chambers, Gwen catches him by the elbow.

“Merlin, we have to do something,” she bursts. “He has Morgana again. He won’t let her go. I don’t know what he wants but he thinks—he _knows_ he can pick at her.”

“Gwen—”

“I’m with her all the time, Merlin. I _know_. Please, you must—you must know, too,” Gwen begs. Tears run down her face, shining like streaks of starlight.

“He’ll… work at her until he gets what he wants, even if it’s not true,” he says slowly. “Gwen, whatever it is, she’ll break. I know her. She’s still scared.”

“You’ve helped her so much,” Gwen says softly. “I don’t know how, but you’ve helped ease her nightmares. It’s incredible.”

“We’ll get her out. We’ll save Gaius, too. Aredian’s a fraud, and we’re going to prove it.”

They’re back at his chambers at this point.

“We don’t have proof,” she says wearily. Merlin sits her down on the bench.

“I’m going to get some. Wait here.”

Merlin goes.

 

* * *

 

He opens the door, his magic pulsing out hotly. His heartbeat rings in his ears. Aredian’s chambers are dark and cold, but clearly empty. Merlin hopes desperately Morgana’s putting up a strong fight. Merlin searches and finds the flower petals in the cabinet. He doesn’t recognize the color, the shape, the waxy texture, but it’s  _something_ , and he’s glad he decided to search here.

Only the door opens as he locks the cabinet again. Merlin dives for the bed. He holds his breath. He knows he should’ve let the cabinet as it was. He tries to distract Aredian with a shape in the drapes and he keeps holding his breath. Aredian pauses right in front of where he hides.

He starts to walk away. Merlin starts to exhale.

Aredian stops.

“I know you’re here, Merlin,” he says to the room. The door to the hall locks audibly. The keys jangle as he replaces them on his belt. “I took you for a smart boy. So I’m wondering, why would a smart boy like you be hiding in my chambers?” Aredian stops before the bed. Merlin scrambles out the other side. Aredian’s smiling. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“What?” Merlin croaks.

“I rather wish you’d come down to the dungeons, but I can work with what I have here,” Aredian says. He starts to circle the bed. Merlin backs up until his head hits the wall. He throws his arms out.

“Don’t come any closer.”

“You are defenseless!” he grins. “You can’t do anything to me, and if you did, you’d be dead on the morrow with Gaius.”

Merlin presses his lips shut.

“Now. Either you let me do my job, or I will have to force you. What do you say? Will you make this easier on both of us?”

“You don’t seem too heartbroken by a tough job,” Merlin says before he can stop himself.

“I never said I would be. Come here.”

Merlin doesn’t move. Aredian springs forward and grabs the front of Merlin’s jacket. He pulls him close and reaches for his chest. The sudden brightness of the moonlight cutting through the window blinds Merlin. Aredian presses and prods at points that Merlin knows are particularly vulnerable to attack.

“I see your prince didn’t straighten you out as he promised.”

“Arthur is a good man,” Merlin grits out.

“Hmm. He is a fine warrior,” Aredian said, “but perhaps you think you can poison his head with your unnatural ways.”

“I’m not—”

Aredian swings him. Merlin’s head meets the rough wall by the window, and then everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

“I’m glad he didn’t beat you first,” Aredian is saying as Merlin rouses. He tries to move, but his limbs are tightly chained to the arms and legs of a stiff wooden chair. There are scratches and broken fingernails ingrained in the wood. “I do like a fresh slate.”

“What are you doing?” Merlin rasps. His throat hurts. Hell, his whole neck hurts. He tries to turn it, but he feels like his windpipe might snap and collapse if he does. He coughs and struggles to get a proper breath of stale air. He looks around; he knows they’re in Aredian’s interrogation room now, somehow. Aredian is there when his eyes stop watering, holding a twisted metal instrument.

“I’ll get my answers from you.”

“What answers?”

“A confession, about you, or the Lady Morgana. I can’t use such means on her, but you… you’re just a servant. You’re nothing to these people, Merlin. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that. I’m certain Uther would be pleased if I reminded you.”

He cuts Merlin’s tunic open carefully with a gleaming knife. Merlin can’t control his breathing; he’s heaving and gasping, and the pain in his throat isn’t making it any better. Aredian presses the tip of the knife to the middle of his chest, just below the sternum, where a great, important blood vessel resides. Merlin stills his chest.

“Better.”

He cuts a shallow cut. Merlin does his best not to react. Aredian draws back. He presses his fingers to the cut, and then his whole chest is on fire. He’s rubbing some kind of salt into it, and it’s burning his skin, bleeding into him. Merlin does his best not to howl, but he does scream. He can’t stop that. Aredian pulls back and douses him in water. Merlin looks at the wound; it seals up quickly, but it leaves a greenish scar just under his pale skin.

“My work requires truly subtle methods, sorcerer. I’ve never seen such a clean reaction.”

“Then you don’t need a confession.”

“Oh, but I do. It’s the law. Magic is curious; it leaves its mark on all kinds of people, even those who’ve never used it. I’m quite sure that, given the chance, I’d get a similar reaction from your prince, since you infect him with your presence so much, and the reaction cannot lie, though you and he can,” Aredian says as he cleans his knife. “You understand, don’t you?”

Merlin looks away.

“Shame. We’re in for a long night, then.”

He traces Merlin’s ribs carefully, then carves into the spaces between them. Merlin watches his skin turn red and sticky, but he hardly feels it. He has no choice—he uses his magic to protect himself from the pain. He’ll feel it all later, but better then than now. Aredian doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of his pain. Merlin stares back without a smile or a frown. He lets the hole in his chest take the beatings, and they fall down into the bottomless pit, into the darkness. He doesn’t feel a thing.

Aredian presses his strange salts and crushed metals into the cuts he makes and watches. He records his reactions. He occasionally explains something to Merlin, but he’s speaking to himself, really. Merlin merely observes as his skin changes colors, and he tries to keep his breathing steady.

The knife finds his collarbones and the tendons of his neck. Blood flows easily from the cut on the side. It makes him lightheaded; his head lolls and his body starts to uncoil after a while. Aredian notes it all down. Merlin slips into darkness.

When he wakes, he’s not in the chair anymore. He’s chained up, suspended, and Aredian circles him like a hawk, peering at him down his beak-like nose.

“The bleeding method wasn’t working very well, was it?” he says. “Let’s try something else.”

He twists a few knobs on Merlin’s left and it drags his arm out and away from his body. Merlin gasps as Aredian moves the chain and twists his arm back, back, until it’s on the verge of snapping. He yells hoarsely.

“The statue cracks. So, _Mer_ lin. Have you ever practiced magic?”

He doesn’t respond. Aredian cranks the chain back an inch. Merlin cries out. He moves to the other arm and draws it back almost as far at a different angle.

“Magic, Merlin.”

He refuses. Aredian peels away the scab on his neck and lets him bleed until he falls unconscious. When Merlin wakes, there’s a twin cut on the other side of his neck.

It goes on until he pops his arm out of the socket. Aredian does it slowly, so that Merlin feels the grind of bones sliding against bone. Just before it pops out, perched on the edge of the socket, Aredian lets go. He does the same to the other arm. Then, he pops them both out.

Merlin realizes then that his magic isn’t working. The iron in the chains won’t let him protect himself. He can’t imagine so much pain getting past his protective spells. Aredian covers his mouth with his hand. He breathes heavily against his skin.

“Shh. It’s late. Don’t want to wake the king.”

He stuffs Merlin’s mouth with a cloth.

“I don’t mind waiting, Merlin. Will you confess?”

He shakes his head.

“I can only keep you until your prince requires his food, yes? Well, that’s a few more hours. We can get a lot done in that time.”

Merlin closes his eyes.

He uses a curious device, a metal belt of sorts decorated with lines of short sharp shards. He pulls Merlin’s pants down to his ankles and wraps it around Merlin’s thigh snugly. It prickles, but it doesn’t quite hurt.

“I do prefer the whip, but we want you to live to tell Uther the truth.”

Aredian tightens the belt. Merlin cries out, and the cloth slides further down his throat. He screams in earnest as Aredian tightens it further and twists it around his leg, digging the little daggers into his thigh and cutting deep. When Aredian removes it, there’s a wide band of ribbons on his leg, perpendicular to thin lines of blood trickling down, pooling behind his knee, converging on the inside of his thigh. Aredian smears the blood, dragging it up through the broken skin and rubbing it into the wounds. Merlin’s tears collect in the wounds on his neck, the salt burning terribly.

Aredian ties the belt to the other leg and begins again. He alternates between that and easing Merlin’s arms in and out of their sockets. He pauses to go back to the knife. He does seem to love the knife. Merlin takes it all. He shies away from it at certain points, and when he does cut there, it _hurts_ more than Merlin could have imagined.

Aredian takes a hot poker to his back and meticulously draws an X between from his shoulder blades to his hips. He prods at the wounds and makes new ones close by. Those don’t bleed; the rod is too hot and seals up the broken skin instantly. But the pain is of a different kind and lingers.

Merlin hopes vainly that someone will save him. He hopes Arthur chased after him when he left the room, to warn him again, and sees that he’s nowhere to be found, and Aredian isn’t asleep, and that he puts two and two together. He hopes Arthur will burst in and run Aredian through.

After Aredian releases him and hands him back his shirt, cursorily sewn together, he bandages Merlin up tightly. It’s almost passable, but it’s too tight to be comfortable. It’s a torture on its own. He cleans the blood off of Merlin’s hands and face and neck and ties his neckerchief snugly.

Merlin watches all the while. He waits for him to finish and meet his eye.

“Do you understand now?” he murmurs. “I want many things. I will not stop for royal brats, if you force my hand.”

Merlin turns away and walks out of the dungeons as steadily as he can. He can finally feel his magic, and it feels like fire. He does his best to numb the pain as he makes his way back to his chambers.

“Gwen? Gwen!”

He’s back in the halls, running now, ignoring the pain breaking past the barriers he’s set up. Merlin races toward Arthur’s chambers, only to see that the execution has been abandoned in the courtyard. The wood is untouched. Merlin changes course and goes to the council room. The doors are open. Aredian is already there. Gaius is nowhere to be found but Gwen and Arthur have the floor. Morgana stands with them.

“They were induced by the belladonna in these eyedrops, sire,” Gwen explains, handing Uther a small bottle. An apothecary steps forward and confesses that Aredian forced him to sell his wares on pain of death.

“What say you to these accusations?” Uther asks, turning to the Witchfinder.

“They’re absurd.”

He coughs. Merlin grins. He pushes forward his fledgling spell.

“I—they’ve clearly done this to protect their friend,” Aredian says. He coughs again and doubles over. Others on the floor back away and give him space as he starts to cough in earnest. He bends and a toad crawls out of his mouth. Merlin lets himself a tiny grin where he hides by a pillar.

“Sorcerer!” Uther bellows. He draws his sword and the rest of the court follows. Aredian pulls out a knife—the very same he’d used on Merlin all night, which makes Merlin blood burn and itch—and grabs Morgana. He presses the knife to her throat and starts swearing against Uther, threatening his ward. She looks around wildly, desperately. Her eyes find Merlin’s. He nods.

He waits until Morgana gets a grip on Aredian’s knife hand. Merlin lets his magic loose and he lets the knife go, his hand blistered and burnt. Morgana rips out of his grip, her eyes briefly glowing gold, with the fallen knife in hand. Amid Uther’s cries, he runs—and sees Merlin there, with the little smile on his face. Aredian roars and makes for him.

Merlin, in some small twist of brilliance, grabs a sword out of the hand of the nearest knight and plunges it deep into Aredian’s chest not a moment too soon. Aredian halts, his momentum nearly knocking Merlin over. The hatred in his eyes makes Merlin grin.

“I think I understand now,” Merlin whispers in his ear. He pulls the sword out and lets Aredian drop like a stone. Merlin hands the sword back to the knight and promptly collapses against the pillar.

He’s breathing heavily, like he can’t get enough air, not when Aredian’s dead before the court _at his hand_. He can’t hear anything past his breathing, which still hurts his throat like nothing else. Merlin tries to stand upright, but his legs are weak, his thighs damaged and bleeding through. He falls, lands badly on his arm, twists, and someone coming to help him touches his side at the wrong spot. He tumbles over, and falls right into unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

“Gaius!”

Merlin’s eyes flutter open. He sees Gwen’s back, her curls settling into practiced disarray, her head out of view beyond the door. He’s lying on his bed, wrapped in blankets usually reserved for Gaius’s patients. The floorboards heave and creak as Gaius comes into view.  Merlin moans as he starts prodding and pulling back the covers. He yelps; he’s not clothed at all under the sheets.

“Stay still, Merlin,” he says.

“I’m fine! Stop!”

Gaius retracts his hands. Merlin sits up and drags the covers back over him. Gwen turns back around. She looks like she hasn’t slept, and Gaius is no better.

“Merlin,” Gaius says, “you need to let me check you over.”

“I’ll be fine. Where’s—are _you_ okay?”

“I’m alive,” Gaius says drily. “I’m in better shape than you are. Are you experiencing any pain?”

“Some,” Merlin admits. “I’ve—er. I’m a bit thirsty, though.”

“I’ll go,” Gwen says. “Morgana wanted me to let her know the moment you were up.”

Merlin smiles at her and waits until the door is closed.

“I was using magic to keep the pain away,” he explains quickly. “I don’t know if I’ve healed or if the magic’s just still working.”

“Well, if you’d _allow me to check_ , I could tell you for certain.”

Merlin groans and slides down the bed. He lets Gaius examine him. He feels the dull ache of healing bruises, but nothing truly horrible—not until he reaches his legs. The gouges left by Aredian’s metal belt were made while Merlin had been unable to protect himself. The pain there was worse than anywhere else. Gaius runs his fingers over the inflamed, mottled skin.

“Is it infected?”

“Possibly, but I think your magic has kept the worst of it away.”

“So this is _good_?”

“Compared to what it could be, yes.”

Gaius cleans out the wounds there. Merlin does his best not to squirm or cry at the sting. The cuts on his chest, Merlin realizes, are sealed up, leaving greenish scars just under the skin. The tissue there is smooth and alien, even at his own curious touch.

He sits up and Gaius checks his shoulders. They’re sore, but it’s nothing that can’t be treated with some herbal mixtures and some physical therapy.

“You want Arthur to do that? You must be joking.”

“He’s been dealing with these types of recoveries with his knights for years, Merlin! He’ll be the best person to help you.”

“Can’t you—?”

“No. I don’t know any specific exercises. I’ll speak to him myself, if you insist on being so stubborn.”

Merlin huffs. Gaius latches onto his shoulder and turns him around. He lets out a hiss.

“Oh, my boy,” Gaius says. “This must have been truly horrible.”

“I don’t remember the burning quite as clearly.”

“It’s for the best. I’ll find some salve for that.”

“And my pants!”

Gaius chuckled. He returned with both his pants and the salve and applied it methodically. Merlin was just pulling a tunic gingerly over his head when the door opened.

“Merlin!”

Gwen rushed forward and babbled apologetic words. He let her help him into the tunic before silencing her with a look.

“Gwen, please. Don’t apologize for anything. You proved Aredian was a fraud! That’s incredible!”

“Yes, but only because I got worried and went looking for you and I found the belladonna petals on the floor of Aredian’s chambers,” she says tearily. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t’ve made you go.”

“I was on my way there when you found me,” Merlin answers honestly. “It was going to happen no matter what. At least this way we figured out the truth.”

“And he’s dead. That wouldn’t have happened otherwise, I think.”

Merlin looked up at the sound of Morgana’s voice. She, too, looked tired and lined with worry, more than usual. She sat on the edge of the bed beside him and Gwen.

“How are you feeling?”

“Decent enough, I guess.”

“Merlin—”

“Gwen, will you fetch some water for him?”

“Oh! I knew I’d forgotten something,” Gwen mutters. She dashes from the room. Morgana turns to him now and takes his hand in hers. She rubs the back of his hand evenly, soothingly. Merlin closes his eyes.

“It’s all right to be upset, Merlin. I don’t know what he did, but I can tell it was horrible.”

“He knew about us both, Morgana. He may have been a fraud, but he picked out the three of us, out of the entire court,” Merlin says, shaking his head. He looks at her; she looks even paler than before.

“We’re safe, though. You killed him,” she says proudly. Merlin bites his lip. “It’s okay, Merlin. It’s done. He deserved it for what he did to you.”

“For what he’d have done to you and Arthur, given the chance.”

“What? Arthur, too?”

“Seemed he was forming higher aspirations than just getting Gaius killed,” Merlin says bitterly. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter now. He’s gone.”

“You were very brave.”

“I was angry.”

“But you used it well.”

“I suppose. What did Uther do?”

“He was surprised,” Morgana says with a smirk. “Didn’t think a scrawny thing like you had the strength to kill a man like that.”

“But he won’t have my head for it?”

“No! No. I wouldn’t let him,” Morgana says. She looks horrified at the thought.

“We made a good team back there,” Merlin says.

“I didn’t do much.”

“You helped disarm him with your magic. That’s plenty.”

“I want to be able to do more like that. I can feel it; I think I could do so much,” Morgana says, leaning close. “Can you teach me?”

“I don’t…. I try not to hurt people.”

“I know! I know. I do. It’s a matter of defense, though. There are times when it’s necessary, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to be defenseless.”

“You won’t be. I promise,” Merlin vows. “You’ve got me, and I’ll show you what I know.”

Morgana leans close. He can feel her smile on his cheek. It warms him to the core.

“Thank you, Merlin.”

She pulls him into a light hug, careful not to make his injuries worse. Someone clears his throat. Merlin springs back.

“Merlin,” Arthur says, hovering in the doorway. Merlin has never seen him look quite so… awkward. He shifts his weight from his shoulder leaning against the jamb to both of his feet. “I want a word. Morgana?”

“Yes, fine,” she sighs. “I’ll come back with Gwen tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Arthur closes the door behind him. He hands Merlin a cup of water.

“From Gwen. She was delayed and wanted to be sure you got it,” Arthur says, sitting down next to Merlin. Merlin drinks it all. “My father wants to speak with you, when you’re feeling well enough.”

Merlin halts mid-sip.

“What for?”

“He’s the king, Merlin. Don’t question his orders,” Arthur says shortly.

“Why are you angry?”

“Because you didn’t listen to me!” Arthur bursts. “I explicitly told you Aredian would hurt you and you went right to him.”

“I had to do something!” Merlin argues. “You weren’t going to stop me!”

“I should have. Hell, I could have,” Arthur says in a low voice.

“I suppose you think all this is on you, then?” Merlin says sarcastically. Arthur looks up from his knees.

“It is,” he says. “Only Gwen and I know why you were there in the first place. The rest of the court just thinks you took a good chance and killed him, and that you passed out afterwards.”

“Oh.”

Somehow, that hurts more than anything Arthur’s said. It’s almost as though his suffering had been for nothing.

“You broke into his chambers, Merlin. No one can know that or else my father will—he’ll behave accordingly.”

“So if Aredian decides to hurt me, you blame yourself for letting it happen, but if your father orders ten lashes for me, you’ll let him do it? You’d feel clear of conscience?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Somehow—”

“Stay on topic, Merlin. I know what you’re thinking and we’re not going there!”

“I’m not thinking anything else!”

“Or at all,” Arthur mutters.

“How much do you know of what happened?” Merlin rounds on him, facing him bodily.

“What?” he says, startled.

“What do you _think_ Aredian did to me?”

“Hurt you,” Arthur says. “That’s all Gaius would tell me.”

“He _tortured_ me, Arthur,” Merlin says slowly, drawing out his words, forcing them to linger in Arthur’s ears. “All night. From right after I left you to right before I arrived at the court.”

Arthur swallows, his throat working visibly.

“What about this?” Merlin says, baring his neck. He hasn’t seen the bruises, but he can still feel their weight under his skin. “I wasn’t even awake for this. But the rest—it’s not pretty. If your father wanted to write new lines on my skin with a whip….”

“I—”

“I wouldn’t make you choose, Arthur,” Merlin says. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I’ve done enough to protect you that I wouldn’t want it all to go to waste. I’d find a way around it myself. ”

Arthur stares.

Merlin lies back on the bed and nudges Arthur with his foot.

“Gaius says you’ll need to help me with some stuff,” Merlin says.

“Help you?” he says. He sounds hollow.

“Go ask him about it.”

“You can’t give me orders,” he says weakly. Merlin offers up a tiny smile. It’s all he can manage at the moment. He seems to accept it, at least. _Or perhaps it’s wishful thinking_ , Merlin thinks as Arthur stands up without looking back at him.

Merlin doesn’t realize until after Arthur’s left to talk to Gaius that he meant that smile as an apology. He doesn’t realize quite how cold he was to Arthur until after, and where that coolness came from, he has no idea. He curls up on his bed and winces. His whole body hurts, but right now, he feels as if he deserves it.

 

* * *

 

Merlin is back on his feet and working the next morning. His legs hurt and his thighs quiver after he takes too many stairs at once. His arms shake holding only a tray of food. He starts to wonder how he’ll get through carrying all of Arthur’s equipment on the training field later as he painfully shoulders the door to Arthur’s chambers open.

Arthur is already awake and mostly dressed when Merlin arrives.

“Sorry,” he says when Arthur shoots him an accusatory glance.

“I’ve grown accustomed to your lateness, Merlin. It’s hardly a shock now.”

He sets the tray down. Only once it’s on the table does he realize how badly the silverware had been shaking on it. Merlin slumps when he knows Arthur isn’t looking. He tries to roll his shoulders, to release some of the tension, but it’s no good. It only hurts more. A hand on his arm stops him.

“Don’t. You’ll just make it worse,” Arthur says exasperatedly. Merlin twists his head to look at him. Arthur’s eyes rest on the bruises visible above his neckerchief. He takes a step back and clears his throat. “My father wants to speak with you after I go down to the training field. I’ll have someone else attend to me down there.”

“I can do it,” Merlin frowns.

“No, I don’t think so, unless you want to hurt yourself even worse,” Arthur says seriously. “We’ll work on fixing you up later. You’ll be right back down there with me in no time.”

His brightness is glaringly forced. He’s trying, though; Merlin knows that much, and he can’t begrudge him that.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t start crying on me now,” Arthur says, nudging his arm lightly. His touch is fleeting, like he fears he might break Merlin if he pushes too hard. His hand falls to his side. “Go get it over with. He’s in the council chambers.”

Merlin nods and leaves, taking his steps slowly. The last thing he wants to do is overexert himself just walking and then collapse in front of the king. Every servant Merlin passes looks at him either curiously or avoids his eye completely. The halls of the citadel are deafeningly quiet, like they had been just after Merlin had lost control on that wretched day. He goes to knock on the door of the council chambers and finds his hands already in tense fists. He breathes out slowly.

“Enter,” Uther says. He’s sitting at the far end at the head of the table, scratching away at his parchment. He has several maps strewn before him. A few knights stand nearby, but they quickly take their leave. Uther looks up. “Ah. Merlin. Arthur told you to come by, yes?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Uther waves him over and gestures at the seat on his left. Merlin sits down.

“I wanted to thank you personally for disposing of Aredian. I must admit, I was surprised at such a show of force from you,” Uther says, sitting back. He sets his piercing gaze on Merlin’s face, and then it slides a little further downward. “Gaius has informed me that you suffered at his hand. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

Uther waits.

“He, uh, tried to get a confession out of me all night after Gaius was sentenced,” Merlin says. Uther’s expression does not change.

“He singled you out in the court before,” he says. “He declared you the sorcerer first.”

“It was a set-up,” Merlin states. “He was making it all up.”

“Gaius was once a sorcerer,” Uther says. A servant brings him a cup of water. “He is also your master. And not very long ago, your mother was found to be a sorcerer.”

Merlin’s breath catches.

“I want to make this very clear. I know Gaius did not relapse into his old ways,” Uther says, “but he is invaluable in the fight against magic, and as his assistant, you are exposed to such dangerous matters. You are young and impressionable and… perhaps weak-minded.”

Uther stands up.

“You have kept your position in my household solely because of Arthur’s insistence, and only that,” he says. “Do not doubt that I have forgotten Aredian’s original suspicions of you.”

“ _He_ was a sorcerer. They—sorcerers lie.”

Uther’s thin lips pinch tightly together.

“How can I know you aren’t lying?” Uther demands, leaning over him, blocking out the light streaming through the colored glass. Merlin slides a little further down in his chair. “Watch yourself, boy, and watch what you say. I am only giving you this warning because of Arthur’s fondess of you.”

“Warning of what?”

“Suspicion,” he sneers. “I have been less kind to others who have mattered more to Camelot and to my family, but you are only a servant. I will not hesitate to have you executed if you give me reason to believe my suspicions are correct.”

“Aredian—,” he says weakly.

“Silence!”

Uther’s voice rings out.

“Perhaps you would do better to lose that tongue of yours,” he grits, his eyes wide and furious. “Sorcerer or not, Aredian had no grudge against Gaius of which I knew. He found the one person at court who once practiced magic. He was skilled, even if he fabricated his proof using sorcery.”

“How can his word mean anything to—”

Uther strikes him with the back of his hand. His ring catches on Merlin’s cheekbone and cuts his face cleanly. Merlin reels, but he desperately keeps his face emotionless. He’s had plenty of practice. Uther steps back.

“I am your king, and you will not question me,” Uther snarls. “Aredian or not, you are the son of an enchantress, and you would do well to keep your head down, or the axe may find your neck. This is your only warning; do not ignore this act of kindness.”

He turns his back to Merlin, who scrambles out of the seat. He hesitates.

“You are dismissed.”

He takes even, well-paced steps out of the council chambers. The guards don’t look at him as he leaves; they only close the doors behind him and let him soak in the chill of the corridor. Merlin looks left and right; the hall is empty. The whole castle feels devoid of life, all of a sudden. He feels as if a dark, deep hole has swallowed him up again, its walls caging him in and keeping the world at more than an arm’s length. It breathes through the fresh cut on his face.

He makes his way back to Gaius. Merlin pauses by the window and looks out at the training field. Arthur is working the knights harder than usual, by the looks of it. The sun hits his armor and he shines like a rival star. Merlin can’t help but smile. Arthur looks in his direction and, even though Merlin _knows_ he can’t see him, Merlin hurriedly looks away and keeps walking.

When he reaches Gaius’s chambers, he finds Gwen and Morgana conversing with him in hushed tones by the fire. Merlin catches his name among the whispers. He enters the room as loudly as possible and nearly knocks over a cauldron. It clatters and nearly causes a rack of tubes to fall.

“Sorry,” Merlin winces. Gaius gives him an appraising look. Gwen and Morgana are still speaking quietly.

“That wasn’t there this morning,” Gaius frowns. “What happened?”

Merlin glances at Morgana and Gwen. He nods, understanding.

“Sit. You look like you’re about to fall off your feet,” Gaius says, gently pushing him onto a bench. He sets about making some concoction, a tea of sorts, and then hands it to Merlin. It tastes like dandelions. Gwen descends into the spot beside him.

“This cut looks fresh,” she says, touching the puffy skin gingerly.

“Must’ve scratched it when I wasn’t paying attention,” he mutters. Gwen tuts, and Merlin gets the feeling she doesn’t believe him. He carefully avoids Morgana’s gaze and seeks out Gaius and his wet cloth.

“How are you feeling?”

Merlin shrugs. He winces as Gaius dabs at the cut. “I’ve been worse.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Yeah,” he says, biting his lip. “I’ll be okay in a few days, though. I’m not worried.”

Gwen doesn’t look remotely comforted. Gaius steps away and resumes speaking with Morgana.

“When you’re feeling well enough, Morgana wants you to come by,” Gwen says quietly. “She’s very worried.”

“Is she?”

“She hasn’t slept much.”

“Hmm.”

“We’re heading to the lower town now,” Gwen says. “Do you want us to bring you anything?”

“Oh, er. No. It’s fine.”

“Merlin….”

She takes his hand and squeezes lightly. It says more than she could ever convey with her words, and it nearly breaks him, for force of her warmth. It’s so different from when Morgana does this; she leaves him gaping, grasping for something to fill him. She leaves him wanting and desiring something to make him whole. Gwen’s comfort is enough to make him feel full and content, so much that it’s almost suffocating. He unconsciously loosens his neckerchief and his fingers brush the tender bruises on his neck.  

Merlin forces himself to look away from her and catches the tail end of Morgana’s conversation with Gaius. She’s trying to convince him that she doesn’t need the sleeping draught anymore, but Gaius won’t have it.

“Come, Gwen. Uther wants me to dine with him tonight before the knighting ceremony. The lower town can’t wait any longer,” Morgana says stiffly. Gwen nods and rises. She touches Merlin’s shoulder. He does his best not to wince.

“Be careful,” she says.

“I always am.”

She shoots him a withering look and hurries after Morgana’s trailing silks. Gaius sits beside him.

“What’s happened?”

Merlin recounts his conversation with Uther. By the end, he’s shaking terribly, and he’s not sure if it’s because of fear or fury.

“I hate him, Gaius.”

“Merlin.”

“He had her killed! He had no reason! She was set up, just like you, and he just… took it as the truth!”

“Hunith wasn’t the first to suffer like this,” Gaius says. “So many during the Great Purge were not sorcerers. I was very lucky, then and now. You are, too, it seems.”

“Not for much longer,” Merlin murmurs. “He warned me. It’s like he wants me to go while I have the chance.”

“You said he did it because of Arthur’s fondness of you?”

“Yeah, whatever that means. Arthur just throws things at me and thinks I’m a fool,” Merlin says. “He’s making up the fondness part.”

“You don’t give him enough credit.”

Merlin shakes his head.

“I’m doing everything I can, but Arthur’s still no different from his father,” Merlin says wearily. “He figured out that Aredian tortures people until they confess, even if it’s a lie, and he still let it all happen. Him and Uther. That’s… it’s horrible.”

Gaius looks down at his hands folded in his lap.

“Arthur is young. He’ll mature and grow. He’s much more like his mother than Uther,” he replies. “You can’t give up, Merlin.”

“It’s harder than before.”

“It was never going to be easy.”

Gaius hesitates, then says, “You cannot blame Arthur for what happened to you.”

“I don’t blame him for what Aredian did! Why would you think that?”

“Because some part of you, however small, blames him for your mother’s death, and this would only add to it,” Gaius says evenly. “Arthur did everything he could to stop it from happening. We were both there fighting Uther on his decision, and Uther had Arthur locked up in the dungeons until the execution for keeping at it.”

Merlin looks away.

“I should’ve been here,” he says quietly.

“I sent you out there. How could you have known what would happen in the span of a day?”

“I wish I had.”

“And what? What would you have done?”

“Set her free! Gotten her out—we would be back in Ealdor by now.”

“You’d have left Arthur behind?” Gaius asks. “After everything?”

“Yes! If I knew—I’d have done whatever it took to keep her safe,” Merlin says with a deep breath. “Okay, I’d have come back, but only once I’d known she was safe and far away from here.”

“It’s no use thinking like this,” Gaius says gently. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

“Perhaps I should go, do as Uther wants. It’s for the best. It’s better than him executing me.”

“Arthur would never let you go.”

“He doesn’t have to _let me go_. Not for something like this.”

“Merlin—”

“ _Merlin!_ ” Arthur shouts from just beyond the door. Merlin wipes his eyes hurriedly and turns away, busying himself with the bottles on the table behind him. He rights the ones he had knocked over before.

“There you are,” Arthur says, traversing the room. “Go prepare a bath for me.”

“You came all the way here to tell me this?”

“No, I came to speak to Gaius,” Arthur says, crossing his arms. “What are you waiting for? Go!”

Merlin scoffs and makes his way slowly back to Arthur’s chambers. He’s so deep in his own thoughts that it doesn’t even occur to him to get other servants to do the manual labor of transporting the water for him. He bites his lip through the pain and pushes past it; his mind is on Uther’s warning, and whether he should heed it.

_He told me for Arthur’s sake. If I go, Arthur won’t be as likely to see me put to death._

Merlin gasps as he pours the last bucket of hot water into the tub. The lacerations on his back from the burns split open from bending over too far one time too many. Merlin staggers to the side and leans heavily on the edge of the table. His head swims, and his stomach feels ready to eject its contents. He breathes slowly, in through his nose, out through his mouth, until some of the nausea passes. The layer of cold on his skin fades away and he can feel the warmth of the fire roaring in Arthur’s room once more.

He feels suddenly exhausted. Merlin makes it halfway to the chair he usually occupies at Arthur’s table, intent on dozing until Arthur arrives, but the door opens before he can even grip the armrests.

Arthur sweeps through the room, dropping his gloves on the ground as he makes his way to the basin. Merlin is upright and unbuckling Arthur’s armor instantly. He feels lightheaded at the moment and sways, but Arthur doesn’t seem to notice. He seems somewhere else entirely again, his motions totally mechanic as he lets Merlin take off his armor and clothes. He eases into the water and lets out a sigh, the only sound he’s made since entering the room. Merlin wants to comment, but he suspects it’s probably too serious for jesting.

“Hand me the soap,” Arthur says. He doesn’t look up at Merlin when he speaks. Merlin frowns, but he turns to fetch the soap and cloth anyway. “Wait.”

“What?”

“Your back. You’re bleeding,” Arthur says, alarmed. There’s the sound of water sloshing everywhere—water Merlin will have to mop up later, surely—and Arthur snatches the cloth off the table. He turns Merlin around dizzyingly quickly.

“What happened?” he demands.

“I—”

“Tell me.”

“I’m trying!” Merlin snaps. “I was just getting the water for the bath. I must’ve misjudged—”

“Merlin, you idiot! Why didn’t you call for someone?”

“I’m just a servant!”

“You’re _my_ servant! You can get other servants to do this for you! I thought you knew that, but maybe you really are as stupid as you look,” Arthur shouts. He points a menacing finger at him. “Don’t do that again.”

“What? My job?” Merlin shoots back.

“It wouldn’t be much different from whatever the hell you do now,” Arthur says. He drags a chair out and places it between them. “Sit,” he says, his eyes fixed on Merlin.

“What?”

“Do it, Merlin.”

He sits. Arthur takes his favorite chair from the table and sets it across from Merlin. He sits down and waits.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Merlin exclaims. “This is confusing.”

“I’d say it’s pretty straightforward, Merlin,” Arthur says in a tone that makes him feel like a simpleton. Merlin flushes. Arthur grins even more widely. “We are going to talk.”

“Talk? Why do you want to talk?” he sputters.

“I’m the prince. You do as I say,” he says, but there’s no heat in his words. Arthur sits back. “So, talk.”

“You’re not wearing any clothes.”

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” he asks, leaning forward. Merlin presses back against the seat. Arthur smirks. “I can wait until you start talking. Hell, I don’t even need this cloth, if you keep this up.”

“That’s fine,” Merlin says hastily. “Keep it on. What do you want to talk about?”

Arthur sobers once he recognizes victory.

“You,” he says. “You’re worrying me.”

“There’s nothing—”

“Don’t lie to me. _Everything_ has been wrong since your mother died,” Arthur states. For a second, he turns slightly and the yellow light in the room hollows out his face, making him look like a golden skull. “There’s no getting around that. I get it. You can mourn and deal however you wish. Just don’t do it alone. Look—,” he pauses. “Look at what it did to my father.”

“Nothing good.”

“Yes, Merlin. So, _yes_ , I’m worried. Anyone with eyes is worried!”

“I’m telling you, I’ll be okay,” he insists. Merlin makes to get out of the chair, but Arthur springs forward and pins him down.

“You killed Aredian in front of everyone,” he says, leaning into his face. Something in his eyes puts Merlin off instantly; whether it’s fear or confusion, he cannot tell. “I know he’s not the first you’ve killed. Oh. Did you think I’d forgotten? No!”

“Arthur, please, it hurts—”

He releases him and sits down across from him again. Arthur sighs deeply.

“Let me see your back,” Arthur says. Merlin hesitates, then stands and turns around. Arthur’s hands rest on his shoulders briefly before they ever so faintly trace the tracks of blood on his shirt. “Take it off.”

“Er. Why?”

“I don’t know, Merlin. Aren’t I supposed to be helping you get better, according to Gaius?”

Merlin bites into his lip and makes it halfway through wrenching the shirt off before twisting the wrong way and almost doubling over in pain. Arthur doesn’t hesitate. He’s all over him before Merlin can even cry out, steading him with a hand on his side and the other coaxing the tunic off of his back. It stings terribly, and when the air of the room meets the open wounds, Merlin realizes just how badly he’d overreached with the bath.

Arthur mutters something about his uselessness and throws the tunic aside.

“Hey!”

“It’s soiled anyway,” he says breezily.

“I don’t have many,” Merlin says.

Arthur shrugs. “Stay put.”

“I’m not a dog.”

Arthur returns shortly and stays behind Merlin’s back. Merlin gasps when something cool and wet meets his aching back and calloused but gentle fingers rub it onto his wounds. He relaxes and leans back into his touch instantly. Arthur keeps to the wound with the paste, but he switches over to oil, one he’s used on Arthur many times before to loosen his muscles after training, once he finishes.

“We need to know where you were hurt worst in your shoulder.”

Merlin opens his mouth to reply but it comes out in a grunt. Arthur rubs the oil into his shoulder and kneads the tense muscle there. He lets Arthur move his shoulder, his arm, turn his head and work his neck. He’s careful around the healing wounds and bruises; Arthur has a remarkable sense of what will hurt him, Merlin realizes.

“What did Gaius tell you?” Merlin asks. His words come out in a mumble, he’s so loose and relaxed. Arthur is feeling for breaks and tears in the muscle on his back now, working his way down Merlin’s right side.

“About?”

“Aredian. What he did.”

“He told me enough to know what to look for. Stand.”

Merlin obeys. Arthur stands in front of him. He’s still only wearing the cloth, strangely enough, which Arthur seems to realize at the same moment. He grabs his sleep pants from the bed and pulls them on before returning to Merlin. He throws the cloth in Merlin’s face.

“Take off your trousers and get on the bed,” Arthur says. Merlin pulls the sheet off his face.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he says evenly, sounding bored, even. “Gaius said Aredian did the same thing to your legs. If those muscles and tendons are damaged…. It wouldn’t be very pleasant.” 

“Arthur—”

“Do it or I’m throwing you in the water, trousers and all.”

Merlin fumbles with the laces and stares Arthur down. It should be awkward, but it’s turning into a competition of who can keep his cool the longest. So far, Merlin’s been glad for the shuddering memories of Aredian’s touch lighting up every time something so much as brushes his skin; it’s enough to keep his arousal down, which would be raging out of control by now otherwise. Even Arthur telling him to disrobe like that isn’t enough, but it’ll probably make for a pleasurable night alone once all the trauma washes away.

Then Arthur’s on the bed on his knees, settling not beside him but _between his legs_ , the bastard, and he think he just might lose it anyway.

“Er.”

“Something wrong?”

Arthur looks up from where he’s prodding Merlin’s hip through his smallclothes. He presses his thumb down the seam of his leg from hip nearly to groin. Merlin forces himself not to flail when he hits an excruciatingly painful spot, one that he didn’t feel when moving about, but that was clearly damaged. Arthur traces the pain down his thigh to the heart of it—to the ring of gashes made by Aredian’s belt of metal teeth. Merlin tries to force back the tears in his eyes. Arthur doesn’t comment on any of it. He barely touches the damage; he knows he doesn’t need to, to feel the cutting ache there on the inside of his thigh. Arthur peers at the wound with an expressionless face. Merlin feels the worried tremble in his fingers. 

“Isn’t all this beneath you, my lord? Getting on your knees for a servant like that?” Merlin jokes as Arthur sits back and moves away from the space between his legs. Arthur throws a pillow in his face.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“Can I put my clothes on now?” he asks, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The muscle on the inside of his thigh burns as he moves. He doesn’t particularly want to get down from there; it’s more comfortable than any surface Merlin’s every lain upon.

“Let me say something first,” Arthur says. His eyes meet Merlin’s one second then flit away to the curtains the next. He exhales. Merlin jumps when Arthur touches the greenish cut just under his rib cage. “Whatever it is I’ve done to upset you… to hurt you, I am sorry. Truly.”

“You haven’t done anything,” Merlin frowns.

“That’s it, isn’t it?”

Merlin bites his lip. Arthur looks away, but he doesn’t move his hand, and he doesn’t move away from him, his warmth still a comforting presence at his side.

“You’re an enigma most days, Merlin, but I notice things, too,” Arthur says softly. “Just… you don’t have to do this alone. I want to help.”

“How?”

“However you need.”

“You’re the prince. I’m your servant.”

“Maybe we’d have been friends in another life,” Arthur says lightly, though there’s no lightness in his expression. He lets is hand settle on the bed next to Merlin’s. “I’d rather try that now.”

“Oh. Thanks?”

“The offer stands. I… can be there for you,” Arthur pushes forward, looking like the words pain him to say. His face is flushed a little beautifully. “I want to be, if you want.”

“Er. Okay,” Merlin says. He pauses, then covers Arthur’s hand with his own. “Thank you. I mean it.”

Arthur rewards him with a small, genuine smile, a rare thing from him, before pulling away, leaving Merlin full of light and hope, even if that hole in him still needs to be filled with something. Arthur glows like the sun in the room, and Merlin rotates around him. It feels right, and for a short while, Merlin doesn’t feel like anything is wrong in him.

He finishes his bath, and they talk quietly about this and that, but they carefully avoid the touchy subjects this time around. He gets Arthur into his clothes for the ceremony after dinner and dusts off his jacket. Merlin fixes Arthur collar absently and doesn’t even realize Arthur stopped talking until Arthur grabs his wrist.

“What?”

“I asked you a question.”

“Sorry. I didn’t hear.”

“Morgana.”

“What about her?”

“Are you still…?”

“Oh! Er. We still talk, yeah,” Merlin says. He laughs at the look on Arthur’s face. “I already told you it’s not like that.”

“Father will have your head if he finds out—”

Merlin stops short.

“What did he say to you?” Arthur asks curiously.

“It’s nothing,” Merlin says hastily.

“This—this is new, isn’t it?” Arthur says, touching the cut on his cheek with his thumb. Merlin bats his hand away, but Arthur catches him by both wrists and drags him close. “Tell me.”

“He thinks I’m a sorcerer,” he blurts.

“What?”

“He told me that, in not so few words.”

“Why would he _tell_ you?”

“Because of you, apparently,” Merlin says, not meeting Arthur’s eye. Arthur’s grip relaxed on his wrists, but he didn’t let go. He looks at him. “You don’t look very… surprised.”

Arthur’s face colors. “I’m not. Gaius mentioned something about him upsetting you, making you think you should leave.”

“Should I?” Merlin asks bravely.

“No,” he says. Arthur releases his hands and backs away. “I forbid it. Is that understood?”

Merlin nods, even though he doesn’t understand at all. Arthur steps back, and Merlin is suddenly cold all over. His skin tingles at his wrists where Arthur grabbed him.

“Good. Let’s go.”

“I’m not serving you tonight,” Merlin frowns. “I’ll be at the ceremony, though.”

“Oh. Go be useless somewhere else, then.”

Arthur flies from the room, slamming the door shut in his wake, leaving Merlin reeling, a tad confused, and, after every little thing that happened, remarkably hard. He waits until he knows Arthur is long gone to lean back against a wall and bring himself off with his hand. It’s not difficult at all, the memories of Arthur’s hands on him still fresh.

After he comes—and he comes so hard he has to sit down for several minutes—he cleans up the room and returns to Gaius. They go over to the knighting ceremony, hoping it won’t be such a dull affair for once, and they get their wish. Halfway through, a knight bursts through the door and throws down the gauntlet in front of Arthur. He accepts, looking all the noble and determined prince he is, and the knight removes the helmet. Golden hair cascades down the knight’s back, and the woman announces herself as Morgause.


	4. Chapter 4

Merlin approaches Morgause’s door, hesitates before it, and then knocks. He walks in, and finds the room empty. The fight is over, and Morgause was victorious. Arthur is sulking in his chambers alone, having thrown Merlin out after a few poor jokes about the situation. Still, the jokes came easily, and it made Merlin feel good to be so _normal_ with Arthur after he’d assessed the damage done to him. Merlin was grateful for the distraction, but Morgause still worries him.

So there he is, searching her chambers for anything suspicious.

The doors opens, and Merlin flees behind a curtain. He uses his magic to still the cloth around him and he holds his breath. Her boots click across the floor loudly and evenly. He hears the rustle of clothing and armor, the familiar clang of metal settling on a wooden table. She walks, passing by his hiding spot, until her footsteps fade away. Merlin breathes out slowly.

The door creaks open.

“I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“I wanted to introduce myself. I’m the Lady Morgana.”

“I know who you are,” Morgause says, her voice silky and sure.

“How is your arm?” Morgana asks. “You were wounded.”

“It’ll heal soon enough,” she replies. She pauses. “You look tired.”

“I haven’t been sleeping,” Morgana says faintly.

“I know for myself how troubling that can be,” she says. Warning bells start to ring in Merlin’s head. Knowing Morgana’s troubles would mean knowing the source of her troubles—magic, and if Morgause is an enchantress, Merlin knows the whole situation is about to get ten times more complicated.

“Could it be that we’ve met somewhere before?” Morgana asks. Merlin squeezes his eyes shut; it hurts to hear the curiosity, the desperation in her voice of which she might not even be truly aware.

“I’m glad we’ve met now,” she says after a few moments.

They discuss a bracelet briefly, but Merlin hardly pays attention to it.

“I hope you’ll remember me fondly,” Morgause calls after Morgana. Merlin frowns when he hears the thinly veiled desperation and longing in her voice as well. Morgana leaves. Merlin waits a few moments before using his magic to cause a small distraction, just enough of one for him to slip out of the room without Morgause noticing.

In the hall, he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His legs hurt from forcing himself to stand so still. Merlin leans against the wall and waits. He resolves to find Morgana as soon as he’s done attending to Arthur, who is surely still sulking in his room. Merlin shakes his head at the thought and grins.

Naturally, Arthur’s at his desk reading with a deep pout still firmly in place when Merlin arrives with dinner. Arthur looks up and tosses the book aside. It lands of the floor with a dull thump.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Merlin notes.

“The book doesn’t have feelings,” Arthur says, snatching the tray out of his hands. He kicks Merlin’s usual chair out from under the table and makes room for him. He eats quietly, albeit a little more violently than usual—“What did the pork ever do to you?” “Shut up, Merlin”—before stopping halfway through the meal and shoving the remainder of his food at Merlin.

“What?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Are you still upset about losing to Morgause?” Merlin asks. Arthur glares at him. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I don’t know what to make of her,” Arthur says.

“She’s a very good fighter,” Merlin says. “You have to admit that she proved as much.”

“I suppose,” he mutters. Arthur stands and picks the book up off the floor.

“Is something else bothering you?” Merlin asks, putting the bunch of grapes aside. He knows Arthur will want to eat at least the grapes later.

“Don’t start, Merlin,” he says tiredly. “I’m fine. How are your shoulders?”

“Better than before. Gaius has been giving me stuff for the pain.”

“Come on,” Arthur says, placing the book on the table. “Let’s do this before I bathe this time.”

“What now? You already checked for problems!”

“Yes, you idiot, and now we’re going to try and fix them,” Arthur says. He ignores Merlin’s squeak when he drags Merlin’s chair across the room, Merlin still seated in it. “Get up!”

“I’m not one of your knights, you know.”

“You’re not.”

“You’d be nicer if I were.”

Arthur snorts before he can stop himself. He pulls so serious a face as a result that Merlin starts to giggle.

“Stop that!”

But then Arthur’s laughing, too, and somehow they end up sprawled on the floor, clutching their sides. Arthur lies back on the cold flagstones. The light from the fireplace reflects off his golden hair. Merlin sits up.

“What are we doing, then?” he asks. Arthur is on his feet in one smooth motion.

“Sit in the chair. We’re going to see how much you can handle.”

Merlin does as he’s told. Arthur kneels before him and adjusts his arms so he’s holding his elbows. He has him move them back and forth, but it doesn’t hurt him much more than the usual dull ache. Arthur frowns.

“You should be in a lot more pain,” Arthur says. “I dislocated one shoulder a few years ago and I couldn’t even pick up a sword with that arm for a week.”

Merlin shrugs, and winces. 

“That hurt,” he says through clenched teeth.

Arthur leads him out of the chair to a wall.

“Stand with your back to the wall,” he instructs. Arthur takes Merlin’s arms again and bends them. “Push back like that.”

Merlin tries, and stops short. The pain comes out of nowhere, and it takes his breath away. When he can open his eyes, Arthur’s hardly inches away from his face, his hands are gentle but firm on his shoulders, and he looks like he’s been saying _something_ for a while but Merlin just hasn’t heard him.

“Merlin!”

“Sorry.”

“What the hell is wrong?”

“I… don’t know. I don’t really feel like it hurts, and then sometimes it’s so bad I can’t—shit. No. It’s—”

Arthur pulls him into his arm and squeezes—hugs him? Merlin can’t be sure.

“You’re okay,” Arthur says, rubbing barely there circles into his back.

“I—”

“Just breathe.”

Breathe. Right. He forces himself to take a steady breath, a long and slow one, and it clears his head a little. Merlin relaxes and hangs onto Arthur, his arms around his waist. The material of his jacket is so soft; Merlin buries his face in his collar and breathes again. Arthur stiffens, like he wants to pull away, but he doesn’t. He says something else, but Merlin doesn’t understand the words. He can feel the rumble in his chest and the sound of him speaking, and it’s enough to calm him down a little further. Eventually, Merlin comes down from the panic and he can pull away without fear of falling over.

“Sorry,” he says softly, looking to the side. Arthur lets go and steps away.

“No. It’s fine. Well… it’s not,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s—I’ve seen this before. It’s what knights are like when they come home from being captured by the enemy, or just when they come home from war.”

“I’m not—”

“I know,” Arthur presses, “but you’re still hurt. I’ll tell you what I tell my knights: let it go. Deal with it, if you have the luxury, or you’ll lose yourself to the pain.”

“Arthur….”

“Promise me you’ll deal with it, whatever it is?”

“It’s a lot of things.”

“Promise me, Merlin.”

“I don’t know how,” he admits helplessly. “I—it’s too much sometimes, and then it all comes out and I can’t control it, any of it, and—do you know what I mean?”

“Probably not,” Arthur says wistfully. “I’d probably be hacking away at a dummy with my sword,” he says, “but you can’t do that right now.”

“Apparently not.”

“I don’t know how you were able to kill Aredian,” Arthur says. He retreats and sits on the edge of his bed. “You shouldn’t’ve even been able to walk after that.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” Merlin says indignantly.

“Sure,” he rolls his eyes. “Strong as a sapling.”

“He wanted to get you and Morgana, too,” Merlin says. Arthur looks at him suddenly as he shuffles over to the bed. “He told me. I guess he was getting a little mad with the power.”

“What? Make us confess?”

Merlin nods.

“What about you?”

“Same, I guess. I think he figured he could have his fun with me and no one would notice,” Merlin says quietly. Arthur’s hand closes around his wrist. He looks down. “What?”

“He didn’t—”

“Oh! Oh. No. Not—I don’t think so. Gaius checked, and I’m fine, so no,” Merlin says hurriedly, blushing. Arthur breathes out.

“Good.”

He lets go of him, but Merlin doesn’t feel like he can leave Arthur’s proximity just yet. He waits, and Arthur stands up, standing so close they’re almost chest-to-chest. Merlin starts to smile.

“Something else you need, sire?”

“You make that sound like an insult, Merlin,” he says exasperatedly. Arthur’s grinning though.

“Sorry, sire.”

“Oh, shut it.”

“What, then?”

“I was going to offer you the bed in the antechamber, since it’s probably softer and better for the pain than yours,” Arthur says brusquely. Merlin is taken aback.

“Really?”

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur says.

“That’s very… kind of you,” Merlin says.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I could rescind that, you know.”

“Right. Lips sealed,” Merlin says, grinning hugely. “I’ll be back later then!”

Arthur rolls his eyes and takes up the bunch of grapes. Merlin leaves with the tray. He makes his way to the kitchens and runs in the Gwen on the way.

“Merlin! I’m glad I caught you. Morgana wants you to come by,” she says brightly. “Do you have a few free minutes?”

“I do,” he smiles.

They chat the rest of the way to the kitchens about Arthur and Morgause’s duel.

“She was really good,” Gwen admits, “but I still wonder what she really wants.”

“You’re suspicious of her?” Merlin asks.

She shrugs. “I don’t really have a reason to be, but I can feel something there,” she replies. “It’s hard to explain. I understand wanting to prove yourself as a knight, but she didn’t look like winning was the only thing she wanted to do.”

Merlin hums, thinking back to the conversation he’d overheard between Morgana and Morgause. Gwen lets the top topic drop, though.

“How are you holding up?”

“Well enough.”

“How about Arthur? He can’t have taken his defeat very well,” Gwen giggles.

“He’ll live,” Merlin smiles. “He’ll just throw things at me until he feels better.”

“Same old Arthur,” Gwen says, shaking her head with a fond smile on her face.

“We could go away again sometime,” Merlin says suddenly. “Would you and Morgana want that?”

Gwen hesitates. “Why would we need to go again so soon after last time?”

“I—I don’t know. I could go on my own. I think I just need some time away from things,” he admits. “It’s not so easy right now, being here.”

“Oh, Merlin,” she says, taking his arm. “It’ll be all right, even if it’s not right now. You’ll see. You have us.”

_It’s not so simple_ , he thinks, but Merlin only nods and smiles at her.

“I hope so.”

They reach Morgana’s chambers. She’s sitting at her mirror, pulling glittering pins out of her hair. She turns around and grins widely.

“Merlin,” she says. “Sit. We need to chat.”

Gwen nods and leaves.

“Did she need to go?” Merlin asks.

“Well, these are delicate matters,” she replies, joining Merlin at the table. “Now. Please, tell me something.”

“What?”

“Is it… is it possible to know someone, without having met them?” she asks slowly.

“Morgause?” he asks. She nods fervently.

“I feel as though I know her so well, as if we’ve been close all our lives,” she says. “I want to know why.”

“I don’t—”

“Is it magic?” she asks. “Please, Merlin. You must be able to sense as much. Is she like us?”

“Can you?”

“Sort of,” she asks, a tiny frown on her face. “I can’t be sure.”

“I don’t know how I can help you,” Merlin says. She shakes her head sadly.

“It hardly matters. She’s leaving tomorrow,” Morgana says. She looks up at him. “Can we resume lessons soon?”

“I’m not strong enough yet,” Merlin says, “but soon, yeah. I can’t wait.”

“Good,” Morgana beams. She leans across and kisses his cheek, leaving his skin on fire. “Go on. I’m sure Arthur’s waiting for you.”

“Hardly,” Merlin snorts. “He’s probably asleep already.”

“Then… stay a little longer,” Morgana says. “Let me show you what I’ve been working on.”

She retrieves her hairbrush from by her mirror and places it in front of Merlin. Her eyes glow gold and it rises off the table, twirls a few times, and sets back down without a even a tremor. Morgana raises a hand and, out of nowhere, a dagger flies across the room into her hand. She catches it easily and throws it at the wall. It stops short and hovers just at the height of a man’s heart. It falls with a clatter.

Morgana drops into the chair. She looks a little pale, but happy nonetheless.

“That was great!” Merlin says. She lights up.

“I found a book in the library the other day,” she explains, hurrying to her bed. She pulls out an old leather-bound tome from underneath and blows dust off the cover. “It was in a room, hidden behind a wall. Geoffrey never even noticed,” she adds with a gleeful smile.

Merlin turns the pages of the book; it’s as old as his own, and just as varied in its contents.

“This is brilliant.”

“I’ll study it whenever I can, but I fear I don’t get much time to myself.”

“Gwen,” Merlin murmurs. “She’s a good person. Don’t you think you can trust her with this?”

“I’m scared enough; I don’t want to risk it.”

Merlin remembers Gwen’s fear the night Aredian questioned Morgana. By the sounds of it, Gwen already knows, but Merlin doesn’t want to press the matter. Merlin bids Morgana good night and leaves her with her book. Gwen is nowhere to be found, so Merlin goes back to his chambers and gets his things. He lets Gaius know where he’ll be.

“I’m just as surprised as you are,” Merlin says to his dumbstruck expression. Gaius just shakes his head and ushers him away.

He’s on autopilot when he gets to Arthur’s chambers and just walks in, ready to get Arthur’s things for bed, but in a blur of red and yellow he ends up back out in the hall with Arthur’s annoyed voice ringing in his ear. Merlin stares at the door and tries to piece together what just happened.

Then, Gwen emerges from the room, flushed, eyes averted. She utters a quick hello and goodnight. She dashes down the corridor and out of sight. Merlin keeps on staring. He contemplates going in, but he decides against it. He goes after Gwen instead.

He catches her close to the exit to the lower town.

“Gwen! Wait!”

She turns around and her face colors.

“Merlin. What’s wrong?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“You look pale. You shouldn’t be running around like this,” she says, touching his clammy forehead. “I’m sorry Arthur threw you out like that.”

“I should learn to knock,” Merlin says, but the words feel hollow in his mouth. “I didn’t know I was interrupting.”

“Oh! No! You weren’t, I swear.”

“It’s… fine if I was…. I’d feel stupid for doing that, but you and Arthur could be really good together,” Merlin says earnestly.

“I know,” Gwen says.

“But?”

“Lancelot,” she sighs. “I know he left for our sake, but I wish he hadn’t.”

It’s a bit of a blow to hear that, for Arthur’s sake. Merlin’s certain Arthur is still head over heels for Gwen; to hear that she still wants Lancelot, after everything, is not comforting. Merlin drags his hand out of her grasp.

“Is that what you were talking to Arthur about?”

“Sort of,” she says. “He’s waiting for you, though. He seemed pretty glad you’d be there tonight.”

“Yeah, well, that way his fire stays nice and warm all night,” Merlin says with a small smile. “If it’s really what you want, I could find him, Lancelot.”

Gwen looks at him sharply. She looks a little ill.

“Oh, god. Maybe. No. Not yet. Maybe? I don’t know,” she says, holding her head in her hands. “I don’t know, Merlin.”

“It’s okay not to know,” Merlin says sincerely. “Love’s not a straightforward matter.”

“Not at all.”

Merlin puts his arm around her, ignoring the pain in his shoulders, and hugs her tightly. She murmurs thanks into his shirt before departing for home. Merlin makes his way back to Arthur’s chambers slowly. He passes through the solarium near Morgana’s chambers and finds Morgause leaving Morgana’s room. Merlin stops. She makes her way silently back through the solarium and pauses.

“Merlin,” she says. “Arthur’s servant.”

He steps out from behind pillar. No use hiding now.

“It’s late,” she goes on.

“Arthur sent me out for something. Why were you in Morgana’s chambers?”

Her beautiful face twists into something tense and unkind.

“It’s not your concern. I expect I’ll see you again soon,” Morgause says cryptically, brushing past Merlin. He catches her arm. “How dare—”

“If you mean Arthur harm, or Morgana, in any way,” Merlin says quietly, “it won’t end well for you.”

Morgause laughs harshly.

“Threats coming from a serving boy mean nothing to me. You forget: I defeated your master in combat today. Do you think it wise to issue such threats, now?”

“Wisdom has nothing to do with it. I’ve seen what you can do, but you don’t know what I can do.”

“You haven’t seen everything,” Morgause states.

“No?”

She purses her lips and wrenches her arm free.

“Will you detain me all night? Will I need to take this up with the king?”

The sneer on her face gives her away.

“You wouldn’t bother,” Merlin says. “You have no love for Uther.”

Morgause relaxes a fraction.

“Nor do you, I see,” she realizes. “You know what terrible things he’s done, or are you as blind as your master?”

“He executed my mother for sorcery a few months ago,” Merlin says roughly. “I’m well aware of what suffering he’s caused.”

“Then I do not need to open your eyes,” Morgause says with a content smile.

“I know I’m not your target,” Merlin says. “It’s Arthur.”

“Indeed,” she agrees, but she says nothing more. Morgause backs away. “Farewell, Merlin.”

“Morgause,” he calls out. She stops and turns around. “I meant what I said. I won’t let you harm them.”

“I mean them no harm.”

“I’ve learned to doubt that from people like you.”

“Are you not like me, Merlin? Don’t you also wish Uther to pay for his crimes?”

“I won’t let harm come to Arthur,” Merlin repeats.

“You can’t control the future, you child. You can try, but some things are bigger than you,” Morgause says. Merlin fights the urge to strike out; his heart pounds in his chest, and magic tingles on the ends of his fingers. The glass in the solarium is ready to bend to him, but Merlin makes no move. “Uther will get what he deserves, though it may not be today.”

She leaves. Merlin eases the air out of his lungs. Magic unfurls and the windows shake. He keeps them from shattering, but when he looks from the floor to the glass the colors are all wrong and different. The brightness of the moon shining through the stained glass seem too kind, too bright to be true.

He exhales loudly, and Merlin feels the magic in him finally calm down. He feels exhausted, so he trudges to Arthur’s chambers. Within, Arthur is already in bed and dozing. He rouses as Merlin enters and makes his way to the antechamber.

“Merlin?”

He looks over his shoulder from the doorway to the antechamber.

“Oh. You’re awake.”

“You’re not exactly stealthy, Merlin,” Arthur says, rolling over. Merlin struggles silently for a few minutes with his shirt until, when he’s somewhere between several layers of messy fabric, he feels Arthur’s presence and his warmth and his hands easing the fabric off of him. Arthur helps him into his nightshirt gently.

“Thanks.”

“Good night, Merlin,” he says. He almost leaves, then comes back. He reaches for Merlin’s face and thumbs the healing cut on his cheekbone. “Father did this?”

Merlin nods. He leans into Arthur’s touch without thinking.

“If you really wanted to leave, I wouldn’t blame you,” Arthur says quietly, still lightly touching the cut. “Would you feel better if you went?”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Merlin says instantly. His face heats up when he realizes just how his words came out. “Er. I meant—”

“I know,” Arthur interrupts. His eyes roam downward, to his lips, to his neck where surely the moonlight illuminates string of green bruises. “I do.”

“Okay.”

“Good night, Merlin.”

He releases him, leaving Merlin bereft and cold, and returns to his room. Merlin gets into bed. It’s a hundred times better than his own bed, larger and softer and fresher, but it’s still not Arthur’s bed. Nothing is quite like that.

 

* * *

 

Three days later, Merlin finds himself departing from Camelot with Arthur. They don’t tell Uther where they’re going, not really, only that it’s a hunting trip that will take a few days. Merlin presses for details, but Arthur remains tight-lipped until finally, after they’re attacked my Odin’s men and Arthur drags Merlin out of the underbrush by the road, he breaks.

“She said she knew my mother,” Arthur says. He desperation in his voice is plain, and familiar, very much unlike what he’d heard in the exchange between Morgana and Morgause. “I can’t give up this chance. I have to know what she knows.”

Merlin doesn’t respond to this. Later, when they’re sitting by the fire, Merlin brings it up. He tells Arthur about how little he knows of his own father.

“I haven’t got a clue who he is, and now that my mum is gone… I’ll never know.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says.

“I’ve got this… vague memory. It’s probably my imagination,” he says with a weak laugh. If only it were something more than a memory.

“I’d do anything for even the vaguest memory,” Arthur says. It’s plain how much it pains him.

“It’s not your fault she died, Arthur,” Merlin says gently. “I mean it. No matter what your father’s made you feel, these things happen all the time. My mum’s friend gave birth when I was young and she died a few hours later. It had nothing to do with the baby.”

“I don’t think it was like that for my mother,” Arthur says sadly. “I can feel it.”

He shutters away, then, and declares that they should get some sleep. They lie close in the cold air. The ground hurts Merlin’s slowly healing body, so he doesn’t actually sleep much. Arthur’s hand accidentally flops onto his arm, but instead of making matters worse, it grounds him. The weight is comforting and it anchors him.

His chest hurts, though. It feels like someone’s torn a hole in him again, like the scab over the darkness in him is slowly falling off. It started right after his encounter with Morgause, and now, even though nothing bad is happening, nothing good is happening to counteract it. Maybe, just maybe, it’s out of his hands; it might just be bigger than him at this point.

Merlin rolls onto his back and Arthur’s hand slides across him to the other side near his hip. He curls into Merlin’s space in his sleep. Merlin does nothing to move away, but neither to get nearer. He stares up at the starry sky peeking out between the barren branches and lets darkness drag him down, even if only for a few hours.

 

* * *

 

Merlin is ready to jump into action when Morgause picks up the axe and lowers it to Arthur’s neck. She spares him a glance, and swings. She stops, though, and puts the axe aside, much to Arthur’s surprise. Merlin’s magic is unsettled now, relieved as he is. She grants Arthur one wish, and he chooses to learn about his mother. She offers to conjure her spirit up, and Arthur goes along instantly.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Merlin asks.

“If you were granted the same opportunity, would you not want to meet your father?”

Merlin considers it, and decides he’s rather see his mother one last time.

“Uther won’t forgive you for this.”

“Maybe his attitude about magic is wrong,” Arthur says softly. “Maybe it’s not so simple. Morgause is a sorcerer but she hasn’t caused us any harm.”

_Not yet_ , Merlin thinks grimly.

“Surely not everyone who practices magic is evil,” Arthur says.

“We don’t actually know why she’s doing this,” Merlin says, though he has a pretty good guess that it has something to do with Uther’s destruction.

“It is time.”

Ygraine is beautiful, and Arthur was clearly made in her image. They have the same vibrant, kind eyes, the same shining yellow hair. Ygraine, though, is stained with sadness. Her words cut at Arthur and hang in Merlin’s head. He can’t quite believe that Uther would be so selfish, so absorbed that he would sacrifice her for the perpetuation of his line. The roots for his hatred for the king dig deeper.

She disappears. Morgause calls it an _unforgivable betrayal_ , and disappears as well.

“Are you all right? Arthur?” Merlin says after a long stretch of silence.

“Ready the horses.”

He stalks out of the grassy area in the ruins and out of sight. Merlin runs after him. Arthur is already by the horses when he catches up, sheathing his sword in its scabbard.

“Arthur,” Merlin pants. He sways, and Arthur’s hand is there on his arm to steady him. “Arthur. I know you’re upset.”

“You’re damn right I’m upset!” he shouts. “You saw that. It’s _his_ fault she’s dead. It’s his fault your mother is dead! I can’t—he’ll pay for this, Merlin,” Arthur says shaking his head. “We’ll make sure of it.”

“No we won’t,” Merlin says, grabbing the sleeve of Arthur’s chainmail.

“What are you on about?”

“Uther… was doing the best he could,” Merlin says.

“And that involved murder?”

“Perhaps—maybe he didn’t know! Magic—it calls for payment, and it doesn’t always clearly show you what it wants. Life and death aren’t easy to control,” Merlin says. Arthur watches him curiously. Some of the anger in his face is replaced by confusion. “Gaius explained it once to me. Your father did a really horrible thing, taking that risk. But maybe he didn’t know.”

“The sorceress, Nimueh. Is that what she said?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think she might have lied?”

“Sorcerers… lie, Arthur. What Morgause showed you might not even have been real. She might just want you to kill your father because of this.”

“It might still be true,” Arthur says. “If she thought it’d upset me enough to make me want him dead, she was right.”

Merlin takes Arthur’s clenched fist into his hand. Arthur looks at him, suddenly surprised.

“Don’t give her what she wants,” Merlin says. “Truth or not, it won’t end well. I think that’s pretty certain.”

“He murdered so many people because _he_ used magic.”

Merlin pauses and closes his eyes.

“I know. I’d be lying if I said I can ignore that.”

“Then let me go deal with it,” Arthur says, pulling away roughly. He gets on his horse and rides off before Merlin can even gather his thoughts.

When he catches up to Arthur, they don’t exchange a word. Merlin’s lost in his thoughts, confused, trying to make sense of everything.

They arrive at the court and Arthur leaves him there with Gaius. Merlin only shakes his head and goes after his master. Arthur, thankfully, went straight to his room.

“Arthur?”

He turns around. His rigid silhouette is blinding against the bright light in the window.

“Merlin,” he says. “I’m indebted to you.”

“For…?”

“I’d become confused. It’s clear to me again that so many who practice magic are dangerous. That’s clearer than ever to me now, and it’s all because of you.”

Merlin feels his whole body go cold. His eyes burn.

“I would’ve hated myself if I had come back and killed my father, or even tried to,” Arthur says, approaching him now. All the hardness Merlin perceived in him melt away as he comes closer. “But he’s like them. He is a hypocrite and a liar. My father… is dangerous, just like so many people. He betrayed my mother.”

“Arthur….”

“Thank you, for stopping me,” Arthur says. Merlin feels himself start to smile, even if the motion makes him feel sick.

“Glad I could help.”

Arthur leaves to go to a meeting, his shoulders stiffening at the prospect of seeing Uther, leaving Merlin to tidy the room and eventually get him his dinner. Only, about ten minutes into cleaning, a knock comes at the door.

“Arthur?”

“Just me,” Merlin says. Morgana enters the room.

“Did you just return now?”

Merlin nods.

“What happened? You don’t look well.”

“Er. Morgause happened,” Merlin says. He rubs his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s okay. I… still wish I could have spoken to her more.”

Merlin shakes his head. “She didn’t make great conversation.”

Morgana gives him a small smile.

“Are you busy now?”

“I’m getting Arthur’s dinner soon,” Merlin replies. “Why?”

“I wanted to show you some more. I’ve been practicing,” she says, sounding proud.

“Tomorrow? I’ll come by when Arthur’s at practice.”

She nods and leaves him to finish working. Merlin goes to Gaius and inquires about Morgause, only to learn that, no, she did not lie about Arthur’s mother’s death, and, yes, she is dangerous and powerful, trained by the high priestesses from a very young age.

“She is no friend of Camelot, I fear,” Gaius says.

“I figured. How do you know she was taught by the high priestesses?”

“I cannot say,” Gaius says simply.

“Gaius.”

“It is an oath, Merlin. I will not break it. Now eat up; your food is getting cold.”

“Morgana has her bracelet now,” Merlin notes. He saw her wearing it earlier.

“I am aware.”

“Is there something special about it? The symbols—”

“It’s not important, Merlin. Morgana said it helped her sleep, so that’s what’s important.”

Merlin makes a face at Gaius, but Gaius ignores him. He’s clearly unhappy with him, so Merlin finishes his dinner and leaves for the kitchens. Arthur is back in his chambers when he arrives, sitting at the table. They trade sword and food, and Merlin sits at the end of table to sharpen the blade. It takes him three strokes to drop the whetstone and sword disastrously and double over in pain.

“Merlin?”

His chair scrapes across the floor. Arthur guides him over to his bed and eases him flat on his stomach. Merlin breathes in the smell of Arthur on the pillows and shuts his eyes. The pain slowly ebbs away.

“Okay now?” Arthur asks.

“Mmph.”

“Tell me where it hurts.”

He starts kneading gingerly and pressing on the muscles around his shoulders and in his upper back. It feels incredible. Merlin accidentally groans, much to Arthur’s amusement.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Clotpole,” he mumbles. His body lights up. “Oh! Augh, right there. There. Stop! Stop stop stop.”

“Should I get Gaius?” Arthur asks, alarmed.

“No.”

“No? Have you had a row?”

“No. Maybe. Don’t do it,” Merlin says wearily. He feels Arthur’s weight leave the bed. The door opens and closes. Merlin shuts his eyes and sighs, his body relaxing into the bed. It’s too easy, he realizes, to fall asleep exactly where he shouldn’t. But he does.

 

* * *

 

When Merlin next wakes up, he has a moment of panic, because he knows he’s not in his own bed, and he knows he shouldn’t be in a bed with another person, and he  _definitely_ shouldn’t be in such close proximity to anyone, especially one with such sweet-smelling hair tickling his nose. Merlin tries to move, but he’s comfortably trapped under an arm and two legs, and half of a torso. An elbow rests a little to close to one particularly nasty green scar on his rib, but Merlin doesn’t mind much. Somehow, his body, his stressed, pain-riddled body, knows that here, no harm will come to him.

He buries his face a little more deeply in Arthur’s soft hair and sleeps a little while longer.

When he wakes again, Arthur is gone, and so is his armor. Merlin is a little surprised that he didn’t wake him and kick him out to fetch his food, but he decides he appreciates the unnaturally kind gesture on Arthur’s part.

Merlin rises and brushes off his clothes. He starts to make his way to Morgana’s chambers, as promised, but he get a bit sidetracked when a voice he has not heard in a long time interrupts his thoughts.

_Merlin. Merlin, we have much to discuss._

Merlin groans and makes his way to the dungeons.

The dragon is waiting. He instantly demands an explanation of Morgause’s visit and subsequent challenge. Merlin tells him about how he prevented Arthur from killing Uther.

“You would have done well to let him carry on,” Kilgarrah says.

“You’re blinded by your hatred.”

“Are you not blinded by love? Would you not let justice happen because you place your prince above all else?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“I want Uther dead, and I want my freedom.”

“I can’t give you either, not now.”

“We’ll see.”

Merlin makes to leave.

“You would to well to keep away from the witch. Though you influence her in good ways, she too influences you. Her darkness cannot be erased, Merlin, and you are vulnerable.”

“I’m not, and she’s not bad,” Merlin says stubbornly. “You’re wrong.”

“You will not live to see the day I am proved right, young warlock, at the rate you are going,” Kilgarrah says sadly. “I only wish you would understand.”

“Oh, I understand. Everything you do, you do for yourself,” Merlin spits. “I will not be back again. I swear it.”

“You say so now, young warlock.”

Merlin turns on his heel and stalks out of the cave. He gets out of the dungeons and halfway to Morgana’s chambers when out of nowhere twenty guards appear and corner him. Uther parts the crowd and backs Merlin up against the wall. He grabs Merlin by the neck.

“You. You turned my son against me. You conspired with the enchantress Morgause.”

“I didn’t—!” he chokes. Uther tightens his grip.

“You were just seen leaving the cave of the Great Dragon,” Uther says. “How can you explain that?”

Merlin says nothing.

“Arrest him.”

Uther lets him drop to his knees. The impact sends a shock right through his body and nearly makes him pass out. He can hardly keep his head up when his hands are cuffed with irons and four guards force him to his feet. Uther is still there.

“You should have heeded my warning,” he says before turning around in a whirl of heavy, expensive material and stalking down the corridor. The last of Merlin’s strength flickers out, and he falls limp in the arms of the guards.


	5. Chapter 5

Merlin wakes to a wave of icy water. He sits up a straight rod was suddenly rammed down his spine. His neck twists painfully. His whole body feels like it’s been hacked to pieces and poorly sewn together, the sinews of his tendons stretched thinly across the gaps between his crumbling bones. A hammer pounds against the inside of his skull, and a drill drives holes between the plates of his bones around his brain. Merlin tries to breathe in through his nose, but it feels broken in several places. He reaches up, but he doesn’t manage to move his arm more than an inch before he gasps, the pain so agonizing his vision blacks out for a short while.

He comes to when the cell door creaks open. A guard leaves a sloppy tray of food on the floor next to him. He pauses, and then leaves. He says something to others down the hall, but Merlin can’t make any of it out. He turns his head, and it feel like his throat collapses. He sucks in air desperately and lies back again facing the ceiling. Warm tears streak out of the corners of his eyes and pool in his ears. He sniffs and takes in a slow, shuddering breath.

He can’t feel his magic. It’s there, but it’s a barely-present sigh compared to the gusting wind it usually is, not unlike his heart, which is only a little more physically present.

All he knows is that it’s very dark there.

He’s roused later on by rough hands dragging him to his feet. He tries to make sounds of protest, of pain, but there’s a cloth stuck down his throat. They tie his hands to a post in a dank-smelling room and cut his shirt away. The cold air bites against his back, which is apparently bleeding.

It bleeds worse when the strip of leather strikes him from shoulder to hip. Merlin whimpers and clings to the post, arching away from the leather, close to the splintering wood. They wait until he’s breathing normally to strike again, and again and again.

A total of ten lashes later, they untie him from the post and drag him back to the cell. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but Merlin counts the number of times he can’t get up to urinate in the chamber pot (until he doesn’t have enough liquid in him to even urinate, of course) and the number of meals they bring him and set too far away for him to reach. He rolls onto his side at some point and unsticks his broken back from the dirty floor. He feels a chunk peel off and stay with the floor. Pain blooms on the shoulder on which he lies, but it’s better than staying on the ground. He lets his head fall and he studies the wall.

After a point, he hears Uther’s voice and he turns to it. His boots are inches from his face, shiny and clean amid his filth. Merlin doesn’t look up at him.

“He should be dead by now,” Uther says.

“Sire?”

“Take him out of Camelot. Dispose of him. Ensure he doesn’t find his way back.”

“The physician has been asking—”

“I’m aware of Gaius,” Uther says curtly. “Go.”

He rustles the hay and rat droppings as he goes. The guard kneels next to Merlin. He goes and returns with a wet cloth, murmuring under his breath.

“My mum was good with cleaning cuts,” he says. “No one’s taking care of you.”

Merlin glances at him.

“The skeleton boy, they’re callin’ you,” he goes on. Merlin’s eyes side out of focus, his body relaxing under the guard’s methodic motions. “I’ve seen corpses that look healthier than you.”

The guard chuckles.

“That, and the immortal,” he says, “since you just won’t die. That’s a curse if I ever saw one.”

Merlin shuts his eyes. The guard draws away. The door to the cell closes.

“Rest, if you can.”

His footsteps fade and muffled silence fills Merlin’s ears like rags of cotton. He breathes in deeply, ignoring the pain in each and every rib, then out.

_Merlin_.

_No_ , he says. Even in his head he sounds fragile.

_I warned you._

_It’s your fault I am here._

_If you had freed me, Uther would care little for your antics._

Merlin’s gut twists in rage. _Is that really all that matters to you?_

_Is it not the same for you now? Are we not in the same position?_

Merlin sighs.

_I can’t do it now. I can’t move. I can’t even feel my magic,_ he says.

_The witch came to see me_ , Kilgarrah says. _I can’t imagine how she knows about me, or why she thinks you trust me._

Merlin snorts. He tastes blood as a result.

_Morgana’s been a friend._

_She could free me. Her magic is strong enough_ , Kilgarrah continues.

_How?_

Kilgarrah doesn’t respond to this.

_She is furious. Her hatred for Uther is tangible._

_You two should get on just fine, then._

_She can be useful…_

_But you still think she needs to die?_ Merlin says incredulously.

_Right now, this is not your concern. If she frees me, you will have a chance to escape. As you are now, young warlock, too weak to even raise your head, you are unlikely to find a way out,_ the dragon states. _It is your choice._

Merlin closes his eyes and shuts the dragon out. Kilgarrah shouts and nags, but it only makes his head hurt worse. He quiets eventually, but not until Merlin utters his quiet answer.

He remains there for a long time, stewing. All Merlin can think of is how Uther most likely had him followed; there was no other way for him to have caught him so quickly after leaving the dragon’s cave. It’s hardly reason to have him whipped and quietly put to death, Merlin thinks, but Uther’s mind hardly works by the laws of reason. He sees danger and darkness even within his pristine, whitewashed walls.

He and his golden-haired son.

He feels like retching at the thought of Arthur. Merlin knows Arthur won’t find him; his father will hide his disappearance well, feed Gaius a story about fetching herbs, and when he doesn’t return, he’ll say it was a simple accident, since he’s so mentally afflicted.

Merlin wants him, though. He feels him moving about the castle, lost, off-balance. Merlin can feel him questioning so many things. But he also feels Uther with his long strides, privately celebrating his victory, and he is a poison, still sinking into Arthur’s skin. Without Merlin there to act as a buffer, Merlin knows Arthur is all but lost.

He will forget about him, given a few more days. It’s that thought—no, _fact_ —that finally breaks him and reduces him to tears.

_I’ve failed, haven’t I?_

No one answers.

 

* * *

 

Uther returns one more time, just to be sure Merlin is still alive and he still needs to go through the trouble of removing him from Camelot.

“Please, don’t,” Merlin croaks out. He knows his lips are red with blood.

“You’ve brought this on yourself.”

Merlin stands as straight as he can. The guards flinch.

“So have you, Uther. When it comes, you’ll know it’s on you,” Merlin says in one breath. Uther takes half a step back.

“Is that so?”

Merlin nods, only he can’t pick his head up from his chest. Uther chuckles.

“Go. Make haste,” Uther says, nodding at the guard holding Merlin’s left side up. He nods in response and Uther leaves.

He’s barely conscious as they wrap him up in linen from head to toe. They don’t do a very good job of it. It doesn’t wrap all the way around his head, so there’s definitely a chunk of hair at his crown exposed, and the job isn’t tight enough on his legs to keep it from unraveling, but once they get him on the cart, he doesn’t move much. He’s just another corpse to them.

Merlin’s head stiffly lolls from side to side as the cart moves around corners and is dragged out into the courtyard. The cloth thrown over his wrapped-up body flutters and a little more light reaches Merlin’s half-open eyes.

“What’s this?”

Merlin can almost feel her clawed hand gripping Gwen’s arm.

“Prisoner, my lady. Died before his trial,” the guard says gruffly.

“Did he have a family?”

The guard pauses. “No, my lady.”

Merlin wants to get up and scream about why exactly he has no family. Thunder groans overhead and a few raindrops permeate the cloth.

“That’s strange,” Gwen says. “It didn’t look like it’d rain.”

“No,” Morgana says faintly. “Make sure he’s buried properly.”

“Yes. Of course, my lady,” the guard says. The cart starts rolling again. His head falls to the side; the wrappings loosen and slide down his face. Someone drags the cloth back over his face, but not before he catches a blurry glimpse of Gwen and Morgana in the courtyard watching them go, whispering behind their hands.

 

* * *

 

They throw him over a horse. Merlin is relieved; he started to think they’d just string him up and drag him along. He knows his still-bleeding back wouldn’t have let him wake up from that. He can barely feel anything below the waist, Merlin realizes, other than cold and numbness. His arms dangle over his head and his shoulders feel like daggers are being pressed into his joints with every tiny movement.

It goes on like this for a long time. When they stop, someone picks him up and carries him. The ground is uneven and sloped.

He gasps when something long and sharp stabs his side. They don’t take it out. In fact, they push it in more deeply and then let go of him. Merlin falls, expecting to meet the ground or at least a hill, but he falls for too long. He meets the surface of the water; it feels like a slab of ice. He pulls free of the wrappings and struggles to keep over the surface. It hurts to move, but the icy water numbs him just enough to let him not care. He looks up the walls of the well at the sky. It is dark, and it lights up with lightning. He hears the horses riding away.

Merlin starts to tremble, at first from the cold, then from anger. The anger overtakes him, warms him, give him new life, so he lets it fill him up to the brim until he cannot hold it in any longer. He screams. The walls shake and light up with his magic, suddenly freed from its dark depths, and the sky illuminates. The clouds twist and writhe just for him, and the tree branches bend and break. They scrape away the stones that make up the well. Roots reach out from between the blocks and help him to his feet. The stones fall and crumble into dust before they reach Merlin. Roots carry him until branches can cradle him close to their tree trunks. They cradle him until the bark covers him like a blanket, like his funerary wrappings, tight on his skin and ever so alive. It feels good, so Merlin lets the earth take care of him.

 

* * *

 

Merlin comes to when his tree disintegrates into a pile of ash. He rises from the debris, covered in death, and looks around at the destruction. Up above, he hears Kilgarrah’s roars. His fire heats the fragile surface of his mottled skin. He climbs out of he smoldering tree trunk and picks his way through the forest until he can see Camelot’s white towers shrouded in smoke.

Arthur is in there, as are Morgana and Gwen and Gaius. None of them deserve this. But Merlin is dead to them, so he turns around and walks away. More importantly, really, _Uther_ is in there. He deserves to watch his kingdom crumble because of his failures. As he walks, he cannot help but let a cold smile curl on his face. It feels good, winning even in death.

Merlin is still weak and damaged. His magic is mostly back and protecting him from the bulk of his pain, but by the end of the second day of walking, he can feel his strength waning again. The trees take him in again and he rests in their branches.

He crosses the border into Essetir. Mountains overwhelm him after a while, and then the forest swallows him up. He stumbles through the rugged terrain, half-conscious, grasping at anything that will support his weight on the fifth day since he was left for dead.

The rocks feel pretty comfortable, once his bones settle in the spaces between them, and the stream next to him cools his hot skin. He lets his magic rest. He moans loudly; the onslaught of pain is nearly too much to handle, but Merlin knows he won’t survive if he doesn’t take a break. So he lets the water take him down.

When he next wakes up, he’s dry and covered in crusty green paste and most of his clothes are missing. A fire burns brightly near him. A large man with wild hair and a beard stokes it absently. Merlin makes to speak but it comes out as a rough cough. The man looks up.

“Hello,” Merlin says. His throat hurts from disuse.

The man says nothing. He tips the contents of a skein of water into his mouth. Merlin drinks until he feels sick.

“Thank you,” he says less hoarsely than before. The man inclines his head. “How did you find me?”

“Out there,” he says, pointing out the mouth the cave. Merlin vaguely recognizes it as where he’d last collapsed.

“Someone did a number on you, boy,” the man says after a long period of silence. The fire is starting to dim.

“A few people did,” Merlin admits. “I’ll be okay.”

“Get some sleep.”

He throws more wood on the fire and turns away. Merlin sleeps better that night than he has since the night he spent in Arthur’s bed. His whole boy convulses with feeling when he thinks of Arthur—good feeling, bad feeling, he doesn’t know, but it’s something and it is _strong._

He squeezes his eyes shut.

Merlin spends a week with the man before he gets his story out of him and learns of his hatred of Uther Pendragon. He explains how he was tricked and run out of his home. He tells Merlin in few words about the woman he loved and had to leave, to keep Uther’s men away from her, to keep her safe.

“I bet she still loves you,” Merlin says softly.

“We’ll never know, will we?”

“No, I guess not.”

It takes another two days for Merlin to catch him using his magic to light the fire. Merlin sits up—it’s the second time he’s managed to do that without falling right back down—and tells him that he’s got magic, too. He knows he can trust Balinor, somehow. Balinor is surprised.

“You came from Camelot.”

“Why do you think Uther wanted me killed?”

Balinor concedes to that. He hands Merlin a cup of spiced wine, undiluted and straight from a bottle he bought in a village ages ago. They drink quietly and Merlin feels more at ease than he has since before his mother’s death.

The days pass and Merlin slowly regains his strength. His wounds are slow to heal, especially the ones from the whipping. Sometimes his whole back seizes up if he turns the wrong way, or his legs go numb. He’s up and walking around after two more weeks, even if he’s as steady as a newborn colt. Balinor helps him, treats his wounds with medicine and magic. Merlin observes and learns a few things that Gaius probably could never had taught him within the walls of Camelot. Balinor doesn’t ever press for details about how Merlin came to be where he is, but he opens up on his own. It feels good to not need to guard his secrets quite so closely anymore.

By accident Merlin mentions Ealdor one day when he’s telling Balinor about something he did with William as a kid. He doesn’t look at Merlin for a long time.

“Ealdor, you say?”

“I grew up there.”

“Why didn’t you go home, boy?” he growls.

“I haven’t got one there anymore,” Merlin says.

He’s about to explain further when Balinor throws the last of their water onto the fire and a blanket over Merlin’s head. It’s not the first time people have come too close to their cave, and each time Balinor hides Merlin away in the back, just in case they come wearing Camelot red. From the darkness, Merlin can still see what’s happening without giving himself away.

The last thing he expects to see is Arthur, covered in blood, collapsing on the same spot where Merlin fell so many days ago.

 

* * *

 

“He’s a Pendragon,” Balinor says angrily. “I owe him nothing.”

“He’s—he’s different,” Merlin insists, trailing after him out of the cave. Merlin throws a look over his shoulder at where Arthur’s propped up against the wall just inside.

“He is a _Pendragon_ , Merlin. We don’t owe them anything.”

“Maybe, but he’s still a better man than Uther, a hundred times over,” Merlin says fervently. “I was helping him be better.”

“You knew him?”

“He was my master,” Merlin says. “We were friends.”

“Friends?” Balinor scoffs. A small branch snaps overhead and the pieces collect neatly at Balinor’s feet.

“We were getting there,” Merlin says sadly. Balinor notices the shift in his demeanor and stands upright, his arms full of firewood. “Please. He deserves your help.”

“You care for him,” Balinor states. Merlin looks away.

“He’s my friend,” Merlin says simply. “Of course I care.”

Balinor gives him a pitying look as if to say it’s not what he meant by that at all. Eventually, though, Balinor agrees. Merlin helps him tend to Arthur’s wounds by cleaning them out, just has he’d done with Gaius countless times before. Arthur’s forehead is slick with sweat when he’s finished. Merlin does his best to keep a safe distance between them; Arthur is still the sun, and Merlin doesn’t want to fall into orbit, not yet. He’s not ready for that at all.

“I’ll come back if I’m ever around here,” Merlin says, shaking the man’s strong hand once he washes the blood away. Balinor can’t help but smile back.

“Here.”

He hands Merlin a small, carved dragon.

“What’s this for?”

Balinor hesitates, then says, “You’ve shown me what it’s like to have a son in these short weeks.”

“Why a dragon?” he asks curiously.

“I am a Dragonlord,” Balinor says, like it’s a burden rather than a source of pride. He sounds so distant. “It’d be part of any family I ever had.”

“Thank you,” Merlin says, hugging the dragon to his chest. “Really.”

Merlin looks back into the cave where Arthur lies. He walks over. His skin is hot with fever, covered in old, cold sweat. His clothes are torn and bloodied. He has nothing but his sword and the clothes on his back. Taking off his neckerchief, Merlin ties it around one particularly insistent wound on Arthur’s arm. Merlin covers his forehead with his hand and lets his magic go. He watches the sickness leave Arthur. He breathes out when healthy color returns to his face and he rolls toward Merlin, toward the fire. Merlin backs away, wobbling weakly, before his resolve can crumble.

“Good-bye, Merlin,” Balinor says.

“Good-bye, Balinor.”

_Good-bye, Arthur._


	6. Chapter 6

It takes days of traveling for Merlin to realize that though the decision to leave Balinor – no, _Arthur_ – had been easy, it was by no means the right or best one. Regret sits like a heavy rock in his stomach, filling him so completely that he can’t eat more than a few bites of food at a time. Camelot is far behind him when he decides to turn around.

He almost falls right off his feet when he does physically turn around and find himself face to face with Morgana, worse for wear and with Morgause at her side.

 

* * *

 

Merlin doesn’t remember passing out, but when he comes to in a dark, unfamiliar room so devoid of light he cannot see his hands, there doesn’t seem to be another explanation. He’s on a bed, large and soft, by the feel of it. His healing body feels better after days on his feet putting distance between himself and Arthur.

A door opens and yellow light spills carelessly from the hall. Morgana eases into the darkness and approaches him. He sits up.

“Oh! You’re awake,” she exclaims. She waves a hand and a multitude of candles illuminate. The bed dips under her weight.

“Where are we?” Merlin asks.

“An old castle somewhere far from Camelot,” Morgana says. “Morgause brought us here.”

“Morgana,” he says, alarmed, “she tried to turn Arthur against Uther and have them kill each other. You can’t trust her.”

“If that’s what she wants, I don’t blame her,” she says. “I want Uther dead as well.”

Merlin hunches slightly.

“I hate him, too,” he says, “but Arthur doesn’t deserve any of this.”

“He was going to let you rot,” Morgana says slowly, her green eyes wide and clear, fixed on Merlin. “I asked him about you and he brushed me off, told me you were fine, when I’d just seen the guards take your body out of the citadel.”

Merlin shuts his eyes.

“Uther was lying to him.”

“Naturally.”

“He believed it?”

“Arthur didn’t see anything wrong with the story,” Morgana confirms. She looks disgusted when he opens his eyes again.

“Did you release the dragon?”

Morgana starts to smile.

“I’ve never felt so strong,” she says softly. “Thank you, Merlin. It’s all because of you we’re free.”

“But—”

“I set him free, and Camelot is half in ruins. Uther was… horrid when I left. I – I told him,” Morgana says, her voice quavering. “I told him about my magic.”

“ _What?_ ”

She nods. “I wanted to hurt him, after everything he’d done to me—to us, people like us. He loves me, but he hates who I really am. So I showed him the truth, and I’m proud of myself for making him look so… weak,” Morgana finishes.

“He deserves it,” Merlin murmurs. “I don’t know if that was smart, Morgana.”

“It’s done, Merlin,” she snaps. “I was the right thing to do.”

“I—”

“Shh,” she says, taking his hand between hers. “It’s not important. You’re safe now. We both are. Morgause is going to take care of us. She’ll teach us magic, and we’ll be able to take Uther down in no time.”

“Arthur—”

“Forget him, Merlin. Arthur doesn’t matter, not after that.”

“If he gets caught in the crossfire—”

“Then he does,” Morgause says from the doorway. “There are always casualties in war, Merlin. If you can’t handle that, I cannot let you stay here.”

“You’d let him get hurt?” Merlin says, turning to Morgana. “What about Gwen? They’re your friends.”

Morgana looks away.

“It doesn’t matter now,” she says in a quiet voice.

“There’s food downstairs,” Morgause says, taking Morgana by the hand. She offers her other hand to Merlin. “You must be hungry.”

Merlin shakes his head. “Not yet.”

She leaves with Morgana.

The darkness closes in around him again. It’s starting to feel like his skin is the only barrier between the darkness outside and the hole growing in him.

_Arthur_.

He starts to burn. His magic boils up at the thought of Uther whispering words into the ear of his golden prince, twisting his head this way and that, letting him see only what he wants him to see.

A pitcher of water on the stand bursts. A few pieces of glass graze his arm, but it feels like rain, not jagged edges.

Merlin halts the pieces in the air and lets them dance dangerously close to his face. They ring around his head, like a crystal crown. They frame his head and face, like a helmet. The glass chunks fit around his hand like a glove.

They take the form of a dragon before his eyes. Merlin lets them fall on the bed. He rolls one dull piece between his fingers. He tries to fit the other pieces back together, but that one missing piece makes it impossible. Merlin gives up and launches the lot of them at the far wall.

Merlin finds his pack at the foot of the bed. The dragon figurine is still in there, which consoles him deeply. It fuels the hope that’s been reduced to a flickering ember, like a fire tucked away in the back of a cave.

Merlin wants to go back. He doesn’t like the feeling of being in this room, this castle, with Morgause and Morgana. The tremor in Morgana’s hands, the lack of shine in her hair, the extra pull of her skin across her gaunt face – there’s more to her story. Merlin at least wants to stay long enough to understand. The Morgana he left behind in Camelot would never have abandoned Arthur and Gwen so lightly. She would never have considered them with the same look of disdain and hatred that she otherwise reserved for Uther.

So Merlin stays.

He eventually leaves the room and makes his way down the staircase to the main floor of the castle. He finds it empty but for Morgana and Morgause sitting close together at the end of a table in a spacious dining hall. A massive fire burns near them. Much of the room is coated in cobwebs, but the spread of food before them makes Merlin’s stomach growl.

“Sit.”

For now, he takes his place with them.

 

* * *

 

Morgause knows things about magic that Merlin could never have hoped to learn on his own or from Gaius. Some things only come from the high priestesses. Merlin’s control over life and death came from his encounter with Nimueh after all, but Morgause is alive and currently posing no true threat to Merlin or Arthur, in spite of her wariness of him. She teaches him new ways to feel his magic. Merlin tries them all, but he usually stores the knowledge away in a box in his mind that he doesn’t intend to open up any time soon.

She has a much better feel for Morgana’s magic as well, so she keeps to teaching her with Merlin’s occasional intercession. Merlin takes to reading the old tomes scattered throughout the old castle and finding the warmest corners in which he can curl up with the books.

The Old Religion is harsh and cares not for what’s considered fair among men. It is selfish, in Merlin’s opinion, and one can’t reason with it. Merlin has seen this firsthand before, but the things he reads about the Triple Goddess and her servants confirm it. Morgause reveres it all and Morgana drinks it up like a wilted flower set by a brook. She doesn’t think twice about Morgause’s words, while Merlin tries his best not to internalize any of it.

It doesn’t take him long to realize Morgause’s influence on Morgana is not unlike Uther’s influence on Arthur. Both tell their pupils what they want them to hear and learn until it is the only truth they know. By the end of the winter, Merlin feels like he’s floating between them all, draw in four directions.

“Do you want to leave?” Morgana asks him one day. It’s the first day after the last of the snow has melted. The grass is dry and vibrant. “You don’t seem happy here.”

“Will you tell me why you left Camelot?”

“I’ve already told you,” she says.

“No, there’s more,” he pushes. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“I can. I just don’t want to discuss it,” Morgana says. She rises from the bench and stalks back into the castle where Morgause’s blonde head awaits in the second floor window.

Later, though, when Merlin is alone in his room carefully stretching his body, still working strength into his healing muscles and bones, Morgana comes to him. She closes the door behind her.

“I told Uther about my magic,” she says, sitting on his bed, “and he was hurt and angry. I threw an apple at him with my magic,” she adds. “He didn’t like it much.”

“I’ll bet,” Merlin snorts.

“I thought I’d give him time, but he wanted me at dinner,” Morgana continues. “So I went. Arthur wasn’t supposed to dine with us that night, but he came anyway to ask what he knew about where you were; seemed like Arthur finally wizened up about his father’s story. Uther got all flustered and was trying to force Arthur to leave, and I couldn’t figure out why. But then…. He poisoned me.”

“What?” Merlin gasps.

“He poisoned me right there in front of Arthur and the guards. It was already in my goblet when I got there,” Morgana says.

“Oh. Gods, Morgana. I’m sorry.”

“It’s no matter now,” she says, smoothing out the lines of her dress. Merlin sits down next to her on the bed. “I’m fine. Morgause saved me.”

“How?”

“I ran out of there when I realized what was happening, and she… heard me,” Morgana says. Her features soften as they so often do when they talk about something wonderful or generous Morgause did for Morgana. “I don’t know how. She says she heard me.”

Merlin nods, understanding. Finally, it’s starting to make sense.

“We’re making plans,” Morgana says, looking him right in the eye. “We’re going to take Uther down. We need to be sure you’re on our side.”

“I….”

“Tell us now, Merlin. You’ll never hear from us again if it’s not what you want,” Morgana says, “so long as you don’t interfere.”

Merlin scrunches up his face.

“I don’t want to see Arthur hurt, or Gwen or Gaius.”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

“I know, but… find another way for me to help,” Merlin says, shaking his head. “We’ll get Uther, but I can’t go back into Camelot, not like this.”

“Nor can Morgause or I.

“Can I ask one more thing?” Merlin says. She nods. “I understand hating Uther. I do. But… Arthur and Gwen?”

Morgana’s face darkens instantly.

“I don’t want them dead,” she states. “I want them to understand, but they’ll never understand. Arthur is Uther’s puppet, and Gwen… she’s never given me reason to think she would.”

“I think she knew,” Merlin says before he can stop himself.

“What? Why?”

“Does it matter now?” Merlin volleys. Morgana shuts her mouth and retracts. Coolness settles between them. “They don’t need to be hurt in this.”

“They hurt me. _Us._ ”

“They deserve a chance to make things right,” Merlin insists. Morgana stands abruptly.

“No, Merlin. They can’t be trusted like that anymore. You must realize this now. They’re not like us – they’ll _never_ be able to make things right,” she says harshly. “We can’t risk that.”

Merlin doesn’t respond to her. He stands up, though, and towers over her.

“There are prophecies that say we’re enemies,” he says. “The dragon told me you have to die, if I want to get what I want.”

Morgana smirks. “That’s cute, Merlin.”

“You don’t think I could do it?”

“I do. I just don’t think you believe it.”

“You think you know me so well?” Merlin says, closing the distance between them. “Do you think you can anticipate what I’ll do next?”

“I think… you’ll go to sleep, and in the morning we’ll tell you what you can do for our plan, and you’re going to do it, because you’re like us: you want revenge on Uther,” Morgana says softly. She traces her finger along Merlin’s collarbone, exposed by his sleep shirt. “That thought won’t die overnight.”

“You might be right, but neither will what I said about Arthur.”

“That he’ll make a great king? That he’ll bring peace and magic back to the land?” Morgana says incredulously. “Don’t be absurd, Merlin. You’ll break your own heart, believing he can do that.”

“Like you’ve done to yours?”

Morgana stares up at him. He latches onto a flicker of doubt in her gaze and goes for the throat.

“Isn’t that what you did? Some small part of you hoped Uther and everyone in Camelot would accept you for who you are. You needed to know you wouldn’t be thrown out like I was, left for dead for the crows to pick at my eyes,” Merlin says, cushioning his words with little bursts of magic that make the room go hazy. “I’m fine; I never hoped for that much.”

“I never hoped!” she snarls. “I dared – I was brave! I did what I had to do. Uther was heartbroken.”

“You let him win, Morgana,” Merlin snaps. “You did exactly what he wanted!”

“What’s that, then?”

“You feel bad for yourself, for who and what you are. You know what he taught you: magic’s evil and those who use it are bad. You can’t get that out of your head, no matter how much you try.”

“You’re wrong,” she says tremulously.

“I’m not. You know it,” Merlin says. “I bet you’re scared. You don’t want to be strong and brave – you want to be _you_ , in Camelot, in your home. I know you do.”

“Don’t you want that, too?”

“Sure, but I’ve always known I’d never get it, deep down,” he says bluntly. “I also have never thought magic is evil. My mother never taught me that.”

“It’s a matter of perspective, isn’t it? Evil is a matter of who is telling the story. We’re the heroes, Merlin. We were slaughtered and left to the crows,” Morgana says feverishly. “The crows are on our side now! We can win this. We need you, though. You can do things neither of us can.”

Merlin turns his head away. She reaches up to his face and touches his cheek. She runs her fingers along his jaw. His muscles clench there.

“Maybe _this_ is your fate now.”

Merlin doesn’t reply to her. He pulls away from her magnetic grasp and eases himself onto the bed.

“I want to sleep, Morgana. We’ll talk in the morning.”

She leaves without further protest.

Merlin packs his backpack and is prepared to leave, to go back to Camelot, to _Arthur_ , to his shining prince. His heart pounds more loudly than ever that night and it keeps sleep at an arm’s length, but it doesn’t matter. For the first time since waking in Morgause’s castle, Merlin feels like he could be free. He never felt quite this trapped in Camelot.

The next morning, when he goes down to get some food, he finds Morgause and Morgana awake already. Their faces are ashen and morose.

“Uther executed the last dragonlord, once he saved Camelot from the Great Dragon,” Morgause announces, still smoothing over the message in her hand.

“What?”

“He had him beheaded a short while ago,” Morgana says.

“That’s….”

Merlin drops to his knees, incapable of finishing his thought. Pain hits him hard and he cries out. Magic comes out with his shout, and it brings down half of the wall behind him. Morgana and Morgause are hardly able to keep the ceiling from collapsing.

Merlin runs. He heads for the trees, seeking their comfort again. They take him in, coat him in bark, like armor or chainmail, and let him drink in the sunlight with them. Slowly, very slowly, the ground stops shaking, and the branches stop falling. Merlin breathes more evenly.

He doesn’t leave the forest until the sun goes down, when he and the trees start to shut down and feel a little lost and unhinged from whatever had kept him anchored before. Then, he has no choice but to return. Morgana and Morgause are waiting for him with papers strewn across the large dining hall table.

“What do I need to do?”

“Plenty. All sorts of things. Will you do them?”

Merlin nods. His head feels like a heavy stone on his thin stalk of a neck. His fingers hurt from persistently digging into his palms. He tastes coppery blood under his nails when he gnaws at them.

“Good,” Morgause says, satisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick note –  thanks to everyone who's been reading and keeping up with the story, and to those who've commented/left kudos as well! RL is a bit mad at the moment so I haven't had the chance to respond to any comments but I really appreciate them! I hope you're all still enjoying the story :) (though things are about to get a bit unpleasant in the next chapter...)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up – torture and violence ahead...

Merlin ducks into the first tavern he sees. It’s late, and it’s pouring. Merlin’s drenched to the bone, teeth chattering, his stomach growling after days of traveling in the wilderness. He’s seen better days. He scans the tavern, which is only about half-full. There’s a small party of wealthy-looking men near the fire. Merlin takes a table on the other side of the fireplace. He drinks a little from his tankard and patiently waits for food.

He listens to the conversations happening around him. There’s talk of skirmishes on the border with Cenred’s kingdom, and of a poor harvest. A few peasants nearby say there’s not a lot of aid coming from Camelot.

“Pendragon’s got enough on his plate,” says one man digging. “Apparently,” he adds with a gob of spit aimed at the fire.

Merlin bites into his food.

“War, eh?”

The first man makes a noncommittal sound. Merlin shakes his head and rearranges his cloak around shoulders.

He waits for the right moment.

The chandelier above collapses. Merlin slows it just enough so he can believably turn around and pull the lord sitting behind him out of harm’s way. It hits the table with a deafening slam. It collapses under the weight of the old iron fixture and catches one of the lord’s attendants’ legs. He howls. Merlin lets the lord down and springs into action. He and the others move the table off of him and Merlin starts examining the wound. Everyone around him starts handing him strips of cloth and wood for splints and bowls of water. Merlin thanks them all quietly and lets his practiced hands work.

“It’s not broken,” he announces, much to the man’s relief, “but you can’t walk on it for a while.”

He binds the wound with a few splints.

“Have you a horse he can use, to get to wherever your home is?” Merlin asks, standing up, hastily adding, “my lord.”

The man starts to smile.

“Yes,” he replies. “What’s your name?”

“William, sir.”

“Are you a physician? You look rather young.”

“I was an apprentice to a physician for a few years,” Merlin explains. “I had to leave to tend to my mother. She was sick.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the lord murmurs. “I’m grateful for your help. That might’ve caught my head instead if you hadn’t moved so quickly.”

“It wasn’t anything,” Merlin says, looking away.

“Is there anything you require? Let me repay the debt,” he offers. “Do you need a place to stay?”

Merlin breathes out and grins. “I do. I’m far from home. I didn’t have enough money for both food and lodging,” he admits. It’s not a lie; he _did_ lose a fair bit of money in the last tavern. The bed was too soft and didn’t want to let him leave, so he stayed an extra night.

“That won’t do. You spared me a terrible injury, and you’ve treated my servant,” the lord says. “I insist you at least come stay with us tonight and dine with us tomorrow evening.”

“Well… if you do insist. Thanks, my lord.”

“Sir Jerome,” he says, hand firm on his sword. His Camelot red cape is still thrown across his chair. Merlin shakes his hand and smiles. The lord doesn’t see his guest’s hand settle on his own blade, hidden beneath his cloak.

 

* * *

 

The food is exquisite. Merlin hasn’t had such good food since he was in Camelot, which was so long ago that it feels newly incredible. He reins himself in, though, and eats the way he saw the lords of the court eat. He is clearly below Sir Jerome in status, but there is no need to disgrace his hospitality with poor manners when he does know better.

“My wife passed away a year ago,” he says. The darkness under his eyes seems darker for a short moment. “My daughters are married and in far parts of the country. They’re happy and secure with estates of their own now.”

“You’ve done really well,” Merlin agrees. He sips his wine. He hasn’t ever tasted such good wine. Jerome inclines his head. “From where were you traveling?”

“Camelot. I was called to a meeting with the King and a few other knights,” Jerome says. “We all trained together, many years ago. We fought with Uther when we were all very young.”

“When he conquered Camelot?”

“Indeed, William,” Jerome nods. “We are all old friends.”

“I’ve not been to Camelot for a long time,” Merlin says. “How does the city fare?”

“Well enough. She’s still white and glittering,” Jerome says. “His boy, Arthur, grows into more of a king each day. I’ve never seen so good a knight, and he’s got a mind for affairs of state.”

“Uther’s trained him well, no doubt,” Merlin says, sipping his drink.

“Perhaps, but they disagree openly on many things,” Jerome says. “That was quite obvious after a few meetings with them.”

Merlin doesn’t respond. Arthur’s on his periphery, threatening to creep into his line of view once more and distract him, but he won’t let him. Merlin has his blinders on. He plows forward.

“The boy’s pressing for the laws on magic to be reconsidered,” Jerome continues, effectively silencing anything Merlin planned to say, “but Uther won’t hear it.”

“Really? Why? Arthur, I mean.”

“We all know Uther’s aversion to all things magic,” Jerome chuckles. “He has every reason. Magic is dangerous. Arthur’s young and still inexperienced. He’ll come around and realize that his father’s correct in this matter at least.”

Merlin drains his drink.

“Could you show me the gardens perhaps, before I retire? I should like to depart first thing in the morning. I’m expected somewhere far from here all too soon, since I took care of my work in town earlier today,” Merlin says apologetically.

“Certainly,” says Jerome, dabbing at his lips with his napkin. He pushes away from the table and says something to his servant that makes him smile. “Come. It’s a lovely night.”

Merlin follows him through the pleasantly warm halls of his manor. The walls are sparsely decorated, the tapestries that would hang in winter missing; Merlin trails his fingers along the cool, clean stones in the walls. It’s nice, not pulling back with grime smudged on his fingertips. He tugs at his cloak and hurries after Jerome.

The gardens are modest, but beautiful in an understated way. Its beauty is simple. Some of the flowers are only just starting to bloom while others are already wilting in the daytime summer warmth. Every blade and leaf thrums with life and arches toward Merlin’s legs. The flowers turn toward him, turn into his touch as he strokes their petals.

Jerome prattles on about _something_ , probably regarding the arrangement of the garden and where some of the flowers came from, but Merlin has long stopped paying attention to him. He unsheathes the knife from his belt and cuts his hand. He’s gotten used to the pain of doing this; it still unnerves him, loath as he is to admit.

“William – are you—?”

Merlin looks up from his bleeding hand and the man freezes, no doubt seeing the gold in his eyes.

He moves to unsheathe his sword, but Merlin already has it in his hands, the blade shining in the moonlight. Jerome tries to run. A root rises up from his beloved garden and catches his foot. He falls hard. Merlin looses a little magic over him and he stops struggling. Merlin looks between the silent man and the blood in his hands. Not for the first time, he wonders what exactly happened to him that he ended up here, but, not for the last time, the dark hole in his chest swallows up his question. He smears the blood on the old knight’s forehead and lets the magic take hold.

 

* * *

 

The man’s eyes flutter open. He starts and tries to back away, but there’s nowhere for him to move. He squirms in the grip of the trees, but the bark holds him down as solidly as any stone or chain.

“You,” he gasps, the trees tightening around him. “You’re made of bones.”

Merlin bites into the inside of his cheek. He always finds this part amusing.

“Apparently so.”

“No—sorcerer, you’re deceiving me,” he says, shaking his head. His voice rises a few octaves. “You plotted against me this whole time!”

“Try and stay calm. It’ll make matters easier,” Merlin says. He carefully adds a dab of blood to the man’s forehead. He looks like he’s wearing a red mask now. Merlin twirls his knife in the air above his broken palm.

“Who are you really?”

“Well, my name isn’t William,” Merlin smirks, “though I think you’ve guessed as much.”

“Release me. My servants will begin to wonder—”

“I’ve already taken care of them.”

Merlin didn’t bother cleaning off his knife. Jerome’s eyes widen when he realizes that not all of the blood belongs to them. He turns red and rages incoherently.

“Release me at once! Do you know who you’re dealing with?”

“Very well. You’re Uther’s man, through and through. So, naturally, I’m not too fond of you. But you know things that I need to know,” Merlin says. He stands up from the long against which he’d been reclining casually. “You’re going to tell me, and then you’re going to go back to your life, just like everyone else does.”

“You’re the Skeleton Boy,” he whispers. “The stories are true.”

Merlin snorts at that. “Not so much, but I’m not putting a stop to the rumors.”

“They say you’re made of shadows. That you’re a Shade.”

“No, I’m not a Shade, even though I might look like an exposed one to you,” Merlin shrugs. “The shadows, though…. I do like that, made of shadows. Shadows and bones.”

He sits down. He lowers Jerome through the trunk of the tree until he’s kneeling before Merlin. He looks around wildly.

“No one will hear you,” he says calmly. “Don’t waste your strength.”

He spits at Merlin, but the gob never reaches him. Merlin rolls his eyes.

“I’m serious. You don’t want to fight me.”

“You haven’t made this a fair fight.”

“I disarmed you. That was fair.”

“You are a sorcerer; you know nothing of fairness and honor,” Jerome hisses. “You will learn nothing from me.”

Merlin frowns.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he warns. Jerome tightens his lips. “It’s on you, if you suffer. I can make this simple and you won’t even remember it.”

The knight does not respond to him. His eyes shine in the dim lighting of the forest just beyond the estate garden, but Jerome does not budge. Merlin feels a twinge of sadness, but it’s quickly replaced by a small, sick thrill.

He smiles.

“Let’s get to work then.”

 

* * *

 

His screams linger in Merlin’s ears long after he finishes getting the information he needs. Merlin learns exactly what Uther and his council are planning to do about the threat coming from Cenred’s kingdom, which is entirely due to Morgause’s direction. She plays Cenred like an instrument, and the moment she opens her mouth he _sings_. Uther, too, is playing right into Morgause’s plans; he’s arming for the inevitable attack, increasing the tension between the two kingdoms, putting aside the needs and safety of his people in favor of funding defense.

Yet again, Uther’s selfishness and pride triumphs over all.

Merlin silences Jerome as soon as he gets everything he needs. He can’t risk the temptation of asking about Arthur again, not when he knows he’ll get everything he wants. He remembers daily how he nearly left Morgause and Morgana for Arthur and Camelot. He wonders daily how different things might have been if the news about Balinor hadn’t come just then. Anger halts his wondering always when he recalls who is to blame for his life in shambles, for the loss of every person he ever cared for, both to death and to a kingdom to which he cannot return.

He turns to Jerome, whose head lolls in the trunk of the tree currently holding him. His skin is coated in a thin layer of blood. Some places are particularly marked up, and there will be bruises forming along his arms where the trees clamped down on him whenever he tried to get away. The man knows the pain of torture and battle; he fought in wars, only he always won his battles. Now he knows what it’s like to lose and to have the victor stand above him.

Merlin rises. It’s close to morning now. The estate is silent, he knows. Every servant is either charmed asleep or dead, depending on how much of a fight they put up against him. Merlin opens up the tree and gently lowers Jerome to the ground. He’s older than Merlin thought, he realizes, seeing him properly in the daylight. He considers letting him be. So many of his subjects were complacent and Merlin let them off with vague memories of a skeletal man with yellow eyes. Others weren’t so lucky; others were found with organs torn out, or chests cut open with surgical precision. One was so horribly disrespectful that a tree grew straight through his chest by the time Merlin was finished with him, and the bark was stained red.

Merlin checks over his body. The damage is worse than he intended, so he does the merciful thing. He cuts the man’s throat at just the right spot so that he feels as little pain as possible. He goes to the house and finishes off the rest of the staff; this sort of job allows for no leeway in the cleanup process. Merlin wipes his hands off on one of the pristine napkins the few remaining members of the staff set out for the knight’s breakfast. He takes a few fruit for the road and departs.

 

* * *

 

From there, it’s easy. His skills of transformation have greatly improved. He turns into a falcon, a black one, like his cloak, and flies through the clear morning sky to his home base. He reforms in the yard before the decrepit castle and takes long strides up to the entrance, taking a large bite of an apple as he goes.

Morgana is likely still sleeping, but he knows he’ll find Morgause in her study.

“Merlin,” she says when he knocks. “Come in.”

He takes his seat across from her at the table.

“What news do you bring?” she asks.

“Uther’s preparing for a fight with Cenred’s army. He thinks war is coming,” Merlin says. He takes a blank piece of parchment and transfers the image of the mobilization plans Merlin took from the knight’s head to the page. Morgause examines it with a growing grin on her face.

“Excellent. Now we only need the upper hand,” she states.

“Cenred’s army is already much larger than Uther’s.”

“We must be sure we cannot fail,” Morgause says. Merlin bites into the apple again, making it loud and pointed.

“I don’t want war,” Merlin states.

“You’ve said so many times, Merlin,” she says, annoyed. “I don’t particularly care.”

“I would rather go in and have Uther killed quietly. I don’t want Camelot to fall,” he goes on. She looks up from the map.

“What did you just say?”

“I said—no, listen. Jerome explained that Arthur’s pressing for reform of the magic laws. He and Uther have been at odds over it a lot lately, but Arthur’s not letting it—”

She strikes him hard across the face. Merlin reels, cradling his jaw.

“What—”

“Say such things again and I’ll turn you inside out,” she says. “Arthur is nothing to me, even if he speaks such lofty ideas.”

“He’ll be king when Uther’s dead. Why not give him a chance?”

“Because he won’t do what we want,” Morgause says. “There is a better option.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think I trust you right now, Merlin, so I won’t tell you,” Morgause states coldly. “Go. You smell like a pig.”

“I just flew from across the bloody—”

“ _Go._ ”

Merlin stood up abruptly and stormed out of the study. He went up to his tower and locked the door behind him. He knows he should count himself lucky for Morgause not kicking him out, or killing him—the threats of both have been increasingly frequent lately, but then again, Merlin hasn’t been tempering his comments against her plans as much. He brings it on himself.

He opens the window and starts drawing water from the well on the ground. It flows smoothly through the window and into the tub he left in the middle of his room. He heats the water and sinks until his body is totally submerged. He watches the steam rising off the surface.

When the water starts to cool, he scrubs the dirt off his skin. He dries off and dresses in fresh clothes, and then he departs for Morgana’s chambers. She’s likely eating breakfast now, and most likely alone, as Morgause is hard at work. She lets him in with a wan smile and they eat quietly together.

“How was the job?” she asks.

“Fine,” Merlin shrugs. “Sir Jerome.”

“He visited once a few years ago.”

“He wasn’t so bad,” Merlin says.

“Perhaps. Did he live?”

Merlin gives he a look. She nods and cuts another slice of cheese for herself.

“He was going to die anyway,” he says. “It was generous.”

Morgana chuckles.

“What?” he frowns.

“You’ve come a long way, Merlin,” she says proudly. “I’d never have thought you could be so… determined.”

“I’ve always been like this,” he says. “I’ve just changed my focus.”

“From?”

“Doesn’t matter. What’s next?”

“Morgause popped in to say she’s going to see Cenred. I expect she’ll have another assignment for you,” Morgana says. She glances at the window.

“Is something wrong?”

“I want to go with you on this one,” Morgana states.

“What’s the problem then?”

“Morgause doesn’t think I should.”

“Why?”

“It’s too dangerous,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I think I’m strong enough to handle whatever you can.”

“Maybe, but she doesn’t give a damn about me. If I die out there, she’d only mourn the loss any information I’d gotten,” Merlin says with a small smile. “She loves you, Morgana.”

“I know.”

“That’s why she won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I can’t stay in here any longer, Merlin. I’ll go mad. It’s—I won’t let this be like Camelot all over again,” Morgana says in a tremulous voice. “Uther did the same to me, kept me away from the world, just because I seemed a little ill and mad.”

“Morgana….”

“I’m coming with you,” she says.

“But—”

“No buts, Merlin.”

She stands up. “Go. I need to prepare.”

Merlin rises slowly. She opens the door and waits for him to leave. She closes the door behind him without another word. Merlin shuts his mouth and ends up gritting his teeth. He goes straight to Morgause, who is rolling up the papers in her study.

“Tell me the next assignment,” he demands.

“Impatient, are we?”

“The _name_ , Morgause.”

“You won’t be interrogating this time. You need to infiltrate the household and speak to the lord privately. You need to convince him to come meet us at a rendezvous point to discuss Uther’s fate,” Morgause explains. She tucks the scrolls under her arm. “Do not take no for an answer.”

“And why is it so dangerous that Morgana can’t come? This isn’t the usual gritty stuff you send me to do,” Merlin says.

“His name is Agravaine De Bois. He was Ygraine De Bois’ brother.”

“Arthur’s mother,” Merlin says. He feels like cold water has been dumped over him.

“Uther’s wife,” Morgause corrects. “He’s all that’s left of the De Bois line. He doesn’t communicate much with Uther, so I need to know if we can acquire his support.”

“You’d have a clear shot at Uther if you got him,” Merlin realizes.

“Precisely.”

“What if I don’t like this?” Merlin says, walking around the table to stand before Morgause. She looks up at him.

“Don’t start, Merlin.”

“I want something in return for this. You’re right; this _is_ riskier than usual,” Merlin says lightly. “I want you to do something for me if I do this.”

“You’re doing this for yourself, Merlin.”

“No, I’m doing this for Uther. If it were up to me, I’d do this very differently, and we wouldn’t still be here, hiding in an abandoned castle in the middle of nowhere,” he says. “I could’ve killed him easily, even from as far as the Darkling Wood. It would’ve been an easy accident to fake. But you got greedy—”

“It is not greed if it’s rightfully ours,” she says evenly. “Perhaps you wish to be counted out of this.”

Merlin shrugs.

“I’ll do this, but like you said, it’s _very_ dangerous.”

“What do you want?”

“The spell you used to show Arthur his mother.”

Morgause’s eyebrows rise and she starts to smile.

“Is that what you’ve been searching for in the study when I’ve been gone?” she asks. Merlin nods, holding his ground. “I could do it for you.”

“I want to do it myself.”

“To see who? Your mother? The dragonlord?”

“I don’t think I trust you right now, so I won’t tell you,” Merlin says, spitting her words right back at her. Anger transforms her beautiful face into something dangerous. The air crackles with her magic, but Merlin’s own magic is at the ready. He twists a tendril of her hair with his magic and tugs lightly, smiling. She looks up at him, alarmed, and reaches for her throat. Her eyes widen and her lips part in panic. Merlin steps back and lets her go.

“This is no game,” she gasps.

“You taught me that it is. I think I’ve earned that spell.”

“No. Get Agravaine’s word that he’ll meet us and you’ll get the spell. That’s the deal,” Morgause says. She pauses. “Are you threatening me, Merlin?”

“You’ll know when I’m threatening you,” he says. He bends and places a soft kiss on her cheek before sweeping from the room. There are only so many times he can stand to be kicked out in one day.

 

* * *

 

Merlin tugs his leather gloves onto his hands and watches his fingers shake. He feels brittle today, like he’s not at all prepared for the assignment ahead. They’ve worked their way slowly up the ranks of Uther’s allies on the outskirts of Camelot, but this is different; this is Uther’s brother-in-law. He knows he can’t resort to his usual tactics of getting what he wants, at least not immediately.

He takes his pack and cloak and makes his way downstairs. It’s early enough that the morning sunlight hasn’t yet breached the treeline. Morgause is awake, though, preparing for her own journey. She’s clad in chainmail and armor, ready for battle.

“Good luck,” he says with a cool nod.

“You, too,” she reciprocates. They both mount their horses and take off in opposite directions.

Merlin takes his time riding through the dewy forest. He stops after a while to eat some breakfast, his sword stuck in the ground at his side—until it isn’t, and the blade is at his throat. He swallows his food and stands up slowly, arms raised.

“Don’t move.”

Merlin relaxes. The sword drops.

“Morgana,” he says. He catches the smile on his face before it can fully form. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, here I am,” she says. “What are you going to do about it? Send me home?”

“I should.”

She rolls her eyes and plucks a few berries from his palm. A couple of drops of rain filter through the canopy of leaves above. Morgana settles on the ground where Merlin was sitting and keeps on eating, ignoring Merlin’s annoyed glare.

“She’s right about this one. It’s not like the other assignments,” Merlin says.

“Morgause told me that much. We’re getting a noble to meet with us, right?”

“It’s not that simple—”

Morgana shoots him a glare that silences him.

“Sometimes I wonder if you remember that I’m not the girl you first met in Camelot anymore,” she says coldly. “You certainly treat me like one.”

“What?”

“Fragile, sickly, in need of sheltering.”

“That’s not true.”

“Perhaps you just don’t want to see it.”

Merlin scoffs. “I’m the one who showed you how to use your magic in the first place. The last thing I ever thought you needed was _sheltering_.”

“Then stop treating me like that!”

“Why don’t _you_ stop acting like I’m still just a servant in your castle?” Merlin snaps. “Because I’m not.”

“I’ve treated you with ever ounce of respect you deserve!” she says, outraged. “Or do you think you aren’t getting your dues?”

“Arthur never treated me the way you and Morgause do sometimes, and—”

“Oh, _Arthur_ ,” she sneers. “Arthur, my love. Arthur, my _dearest prince._ Why don’t you just let the bastard go?”

“I have,” Merlin snarls. “Uther did a good job of that.”

“Did he?” Morgana asks, looking more amused than she should. “Seems to me that you’ve cut away from every inch of Camelot _except_ for Arthur. You’re still holding out hope for him.”

“Is that so wrong?”

“It’s disgustingly wrong, Merlin,” she says, advancing until Merlin is backed up against a tree. “He _is_ Uther. He’s Uther’s making. He’s Uther’s blood.”

“He isn’t!”

She laughs. It might sound sweet to someone who doesn’t know Morgana better, but Merlin hears the derision through the tinkling bells.

“Don’t play the fool, Merlin. You know the truth, deep down,” says Morgana. She looks around at the clearing. “We shouldn’t stay long.”

Merlin crams the rest of his berries into his mouth, mostly to stop himself from further arguing with Morgana. She climbs back onto her horse with ease while Merlin struggles to get on while holding onto his cloak and satchel. His riding skills have never been up to par with Morgana’s or Morgause’s, and certainly never Arthur’s.

They ride all day without exchanging a word, not even when they stop for lunch. Their horses tire around dusk, so they slow down and find lodgings in the nearest town. The food isn’t anything special, and the beds are stiff.

At night he lets himself remember that one precious night he spent in Arthur’s bed, waking up under his weight, warm and safe, even if he was still in pain from Aredian’s interrogation. He absently touches the slightly raised scars on his chest. They trace his ribs and the spaces between them. At a time, he was so thin that the scars stuck out prominently enough that he truly did look like a skeleton. The lashes from Uther’s whip left nasty welts on his back, but they’ve mostly faded, except where they intersected with Aredian’s burns. The worst, in Merlin’s opinion, are the scars on his legs, especially on his inner thigh where Aredian had dug into the wounds he had made. After long days of riding like that one, his leg feels weak. Once in a while, they give out completely. He knows he never healed and regained his strength the correct way; only Arthur or Gaius could have taught him how to do that, but he was forced out of his home long before they got the chance.

Merlin turns on his side and stares out into the darkness. He listens to Morgana’s uneven breaths behind him. She’s nervous, even if she won’t show it; only when she’s like this do her nightmares plague her nowadays, though she wears Morgause’s healing bracelet. He closes his eyes; it’s soothing for a while, but in the end, he can feel the gaping hole in his chest, and Merlin wants nothing more than to seal it up. He’s well aware he made the wrong choice, that his decisions did the opposite of fix his problem—staying with Morgana and Morgause only amplified it. As much as he wants to leave, he knows he can’t, not until he’s certain Uther will get what he deserves.

He sighs and turns onto his back. The ceiling is cracked. Merlin closes his eyes and does his best to fall asleep.

Morning comes all too quickly. Merlin skips breakfast and goes right to the horses with a few apples; they greet him kindly and let him pet their glossy coats.

“You’ll get to rest again soon,” he murmurs. The horse whines and grabs another apple from Merlin’s hands.

“Merlin!”

He spins around. Morgana motions for him to follow, so he does. She takes him inside to a room in the back of the tavern. She stops him with a hand on his chest before the closed door.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s a man in there we can question about Agravaine. I found him,” she adds proudly. “He worked in Agravaine’s household since the days before Uther married Ygraine. He can tell us about his loyalties, what he felt following her death, all of that!”

“Morgause said—”

“Damn what she said. Kill him when we’re through if you must, but we can’t pass up this opportunity,” Morgana says. She grips his hand tightly. “You know it’s true.”

“We can’t waste our time,” he says, wrenching his hand from her grasp. She grabs his shoulder and shoves him back against the wall.

“Interrogate him,” Morgana says slowly.

“I’m not your servant,” he grits.

“Maybe not, but I’m still your better. I know a lot more than you think I do, so you’re going to go in and do as I say, or—oh, Merlin, there are things I could tell you.”

“Like what?” he asks suspiciously.

“The dragon told me a few things, when I set him free,” Morgana says quietly. “He told me of the great destiny you and Arthur have, and what role I’m going to play.”

“That’s—it won’t happen. Things have changed way too much.”

“Have they?”

She turns her cold eyes on Merlin.

“Your loyalties still lie with him. I don’t mind putting a blade through his heart, if that’s what it takes to get you to do as I say,” Morgana says.

“He’s your friend! How could you—”

“How could I? How could _he_? And Gwen, and Gaius, and Uther above all—how could they all turn me out the way they did, try and kill me in front of everyone? At least they gave you your privacy.”

Merlin reels as though she slapped him. He steadies himself and stands at full height, fists clenched into angry balls. She takes a step back.

“I’ll do it. Not for you or Morgause, and certainly not because I believe your threats,” Merlin says. “Because _I_ want to. It’ll feel good.”

She looks up at him, her face half in shadows, and she looks confused for a brief moment. Merlin brushes past her and into the room. She closes the door quietly behind them. The room is empty but for the one man bound to a spindly chair. Merlin pulls the curtains shut across the small window on the back wall. He lets the fire burn hotter in the fireplace.

“How did you get here?” he asks. The man shakes his head. Merlin opens the man’s mouth forcefully and finds that his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. Merlin uses his magic to free him. “Answer me.”

“I was passing through—I started speaking to _her_ , and now I’m here.”

“He told me who his former employer is,” Morgana interjects. “I didn’t just randomly kidnap the man.”

Merlin nods.

“Fair enough. What can you tell me about Agravaine?”

“I’ll tell you nothing.”

“Tell me why he sacked you, then.”

“I—no.”

Merlin sighs. “Are we doing this the hard way, then?”

The man’s eyes widen. Merlin catches a hot poker as it soars from the fireplace to his hand. He lets the red hot tip cool a little before letting it hover next to the man’s neck. He’s breathing heavily now, chest heaving, sweat breaking out on his weasel-like face. He keeps trying to watch the poker, but its tip is just out of his line of sight.

“So. Why did he sack you?”

“I’m old.”

“You’re not that old. I’ve met older servants,” Merlin says. He inches the poker closer to the man’s skin. He gasps and squirms. Merlin rolls his eyes. He freezes the man in his spot.

“We—he decided he needed fresh blood,” he says. Merlin starts to smile. “He—he wanted a new manservant.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t think he could trust me any longer.”

“Go on.”

The man starts to relax under Merlin’s magic.

“I—he caught me in his study, looking at his personal documents,” the man says.

“Oh, now this is getting interesting,” Morgana crows. She appears at Merlin’s shoulder, takes the poker, and presses the tip along the man’s neck. He opens his mouth to howl, but not a sound comes out.

“Morgana!” Merlin shouts. She drops the poker. “Don’t. Let me do this.”

“I—”

“ _No._ ”

She backs away. Merlin turns his gaze on the man. The welt is furiously scarlet on his neck. Merlin covers it with his hand and heals it. The man breathes out in relief.

“Thank you.”

“My friend here doesn’t know the proper places to torture a person. You should never leave marks where people could see it,” Merlin says. He severs the front of the man’s tunic and drags his chair closer to him. “Now. Tell me more about these documents.”

“They’re not important—”

“Clearly they are, if they’re worth sacking you.”

He shakes his head. Merlin drags the poker down the man’s sternum, pressing down at the end of it into the soft skin. He cries out noiselessly again, his body convulsing, but Merlin doesn’t move it.

“Stay still, or it’ll be worse.”

His head lolls.

“Come now, this could be a lot worse,” Morgana says. Merlin shoots her a warning glare before getting back to work on his subject.

It takes three ribs and the spaces between them to ease another piece of information out of him.

“Diary. Old records, from when he lived in Camelot with his family.”

“Sister?”

“Brother, too. The king as well.”

“And?”

He meet’s Merlin’s expectant gaze with such steely resolve that Merlin has to double up his efforts. He’s almost out of ribs when the man breaks again.

“Ygraine’s death, then Tristan’s—he hates him,” he gasps. “He curses the king’s name.”

“In his records or now?”

“Both,” he says.

“Get him some water,” Merlin says. Morgana disappears briefly.

“What does he say about Ygraine’s death? Does he mention the circumstances?”

“Birth,” the man manages to say. “That’s all.”

Merlin nods, relieved. Morgana returns just then with the water. She tips it into the man’s mouth until Merlin tells her to stop. He desperately chases the drops.

“What else was there?” he asks.

“Uther… has many secrets,” the man says, licking the last of the water off his lips. “Some of which Agravaine knows, even if Uther isn’t aware of him knowing.”

“And?”

“His hatred of him started before Ygraine died,” says the servant slowly. He closes his eyes, and his head starts to fall. Merlin stabs the man in the stomach with the poker. He jumps up and cries out his harsh whimpering unlike anything Merlin has ever heard. Morgana looks between him and the man several times.

“What?” he says to her harshly.

“Nothing,” she says quickly.

“Too much for you? I’ve done worse. He’s not the first I’ve tortured.”

“No.”

Morgana backs away. Merlin withdraws the poker from the man’s abdomen and lets him recover.

“Do you want to try this again?” he says. “I’ll put the poker away if you tell me _plainly_ what you read in his records.”

“Uther had an affair with the wife of one of his closest friends while he was at war,” the man says. He stops to catch his breath. Merlin clings to the poker, ready to strike again, but he opens up even further. “Gorlois never knew, Agravaine said.”

Merlin feels Morgana’s fidgeting freeze.

“Gorlois?” she whispers.

“Yes. Vivienne was a beautiful woman,” he says with a small smile. “Kind. Gifted, in more ways than one.”

Morgana roars and lunges for him.

“What does that mean?” she shouts. “Tell me!”

Merlin grabs her by the waist and drags her away, leaving the poker hovering at the man’s neck. He lets her struggle until all the energy eases out of her.

“Tell us,” he says, turning on the man, gripping the poker again.

“Agravaine confronted Uther about her child, and he confirmed to him that it was not of Gorlois,” the servant says. “I remember her earlier pregnancy, but the child was apparently stillborn. I never saw the physician look so sad. But this one, the second one, stayed with Gorlois after Vivienne’s death. We left before I could find out what became of the child.”

“So… what you’re saying is… Uther had a child by Vivienne, who was raised by Gorlois?” Morgana asks.

Merlin tightens his hold on the poker.

“Oh, god. He’s—”

She turns and leaves the room.

For a short while, Merlin doesn’t know what to do. So he acts on his anger, as he’s learned to do, and he drives the poker through the man’s chest. He sputters and bleeds all over the floor. Merlin collects some of the blood on his hands and stares at the bright redness of it all. It almost doesn’t seem real, but it’s warm between his fingers, and there are bits of skin and cloth in the mix. It’s very real.

The door opens. Merlin stands up. Morgana closes the door and takes up a fighting stance.

“Whatever it is, Morgana, don’t. Let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she says, shaking her head. Her eyes are wild and huge. She’s grinning madly. “Uther is my _father_.”

“He might be wrong. We can’t trust he’s right.”

“We’ll go to Agravaine and find out.”

“We’re going to get him to agree to meet with us. Nothing else,” Merlin insists. “We can’t afford any more diversions.”

“Diversions? This is the solution!” Morgana cries. “I’m his heir. I can take the throne and solve all our problems. We can take Camelot and keep it for ourselves! I can truly _destroy_ all of them.”

Merlin grips the man’s chair. He feels ready to vomit.

“No,” he manages.

“No?”

“I—no. We’re not doing that.”

“You can’t be serious,” she gapes. “Merlin, this is our way out. This way, we can get everything we want!”

Merlin stays silent.

“Oh. _Oh._ My dear Merlin, you’ll never get _that_ , no matter how much you want it,” Morgana says. She crosses the room to him and presses a kiss to his lips. He starts and turns to stone beneath her touch. “We’ll take Camelot, and Arthur will die with his father. You’ll never see him.”

“Why?” he breathes through frozen lips.

“Because you still choose him over your own kind, and that makes you a traitor.”

“So you’ll kill him to make me suffer?”

“There are a million valid reason to kill him now,” she says, her mouth twisting into a wide grin. “This man has turned the tide in our war, and it hasn’t even begun.”

The words that come out of Merlin’s mouth next are so instinctive, so automatic, he doesn’t even think about them, and when they do come out, he doesn’t want to take it back.

“I won’t let you do this. There has to be another way.” 

“There is no other way.”

Morgana’s eyes turn gold, and then Merlin knows nothing but darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

If anything, it’s the pounding in his head that wakes Merlin. It’s cold and hard on the ground, but he feels like someone is drilling a hole through the crown of his skull. He sits up and peers through the darkness. It’s his room, for certain, but all his belongings are gone, as is the bed. The window is sealed shut with wax. He scratches at it until his nails break and his skin bleeds. Merlin curses and makes for the door, the room spinning terribly as he pitches forward. He hits the wood hard. He grasps at where the door handle should be, but there’s nothing there.

Merlin slowly backs away. He closes his eyes, waits for his heart to calm down and for his head to stop throbbing. He reaches for his magic and casts a light around the room. There is absolutely nothing there.

He backs up to the wall and rests against the cool surface. Then, everything that happened rushes back to him.

_Arthur_. _Morgana –_

The door swings open. Morgause enters, her silhouette simultaneously golden and hideously dark in the doorway. Merlin does not move.

“Merlin,” she says with clear distaste.

“Why have you done this?”

“It’s for your own good,” she says calmly. “You were very confused. It seems the interrogation exhausted you, made you imagine very strange things.”

“Don’t play games. I remember everything.”

“You are _confused_ ,” she says. Morgause cups his face. “We only want you to see clearly again. This will help you.”

“What? Locking me away like some helpless damsel?”

“No, as that implies you need saving,” she says. Her thumb runs over the ridge of his cheekbone over and over. It’s soothing, but unsettling. Merlin turns away. She drops her hand. “You will be fine, my bird. We will make sure of it.”

His eyelids start to close. Merlin starts to panic, but his body refuses to respond to his brain. He relaxes and slumps down the wall. Merlin uses his quickly draining energy to look up at Morgause. She’s smiling.

“Rest, now. We’ll send for you, soon.”

He feels his consciousness slip further and further away, but not so quickly that he doesn’t feel the strong ripple of magic in the room. Morgause leaves, and he passes out instantly.

 

* * *

 

He starts to come to, but all he hears are screams – constant screaming of men, women, children – so terrible, so pained, that Merlin summons the tiny threads of strength in him to knock himself out again.

He does this until it fails to work. Then he uses his magic to silence his ears. Merlin pries his eyes open and examines the ceiling.

_Oh_.

Mandrake roots.

He’s desperately thankful for his magic, his protection. Merlin closes his eyes. It would be so easy to fall back into unconsciousness and float until Morgause comes back for him, but in the back of his mind, something else calls out. Something important. He doesn’t quite remember what it is, but he knows he needs to leave.

Merlin lets a little of the screaming into his head in exchange for a little magic to build up a reserve. When it builds high enough, his ears ring and his head feels like it’s filled with cotton drenched in putrid oil, but he is strong enough to stand.

Merlin rises. Blood rushes through his limbs and almost pulls him back to the ground. He focuses his magic on the window and blasts it open. It’s almost too simple, but he doesn’t dare waste time marveling at his luck. He sticks his head into the warm, sweet air; the grass is virulent green, and from the tower he can see the tops of the mountains. Somewhere, though, under the fragrance of summer, something burns. There are no guards directly below him, so Merlin climbs onto the ledge, his limbs weak and shaky as a newborn colt’s, and jumps.

Merlin breathes in the sharp air and transforms. His wings catch and he rises up, strong and light. He flies hard in the direction of Camelot and no one at the ruined castle seems to know the difference.

He can’t keep it up, though; Merlin lands and transforms back into his human form after less than an hour. He’s close to the border now but still half a day’s walk away. He leans heavily against the nearest tree and struggles to catch his breath. His head hurts like nothing has before. Away from the dank castle walls Merlin can think clearly – truly _clearly_ – for the first time in what feels like years. He gasps at the air, drinking it like a man finding water in the desert, until he feels lightheaded. He slides down the tree until he’s nestled between the roots. The earth reacts to him and folds around his broken body, his shattered mind. Merlin meets the earth halfway and curls into its embrace.

He rests well.

When he wakes, he is strong and steady as any tree in the forest. Merlin fastens his cloak on his shoulders and sets off on foot. The early morning is refreshingly crisp, the grass wet with dew, but it’s uncomfortably silent. Merlin’s skin prickles at the quiet.

A sword unsheathes.

Merlin turns to the sound, arm outstretched. His magic is ready, but _he_ isn’t, not for the face he sees.

“Lancelot,” Merlin exhales. Lancelot’s face slackens. He drops the sword and freezes.

“Merlin?” he says. “Is it really you?”

“Yeah. It’s me,” Merlin says, unable to hold down a smile. Lancelot however doesn’t seem quite so happy. “What’s wrong?”

“You… are supposed to be dead,” he says, his voice breaking on the last word. “You died over a year ago. That’s what Gwen said.”

“I – It’s complicated,” Merlin says after a moment. Lancelot gives him a hard look. Merlin’s heart aches with how much he missed his friend. “I’m me, though. I swear it.”

He takes a few steps toward Lancelot. He doesn’t move, though, so Merlin takes one step back, arms up.

“Have you heard from Camelot?”

Lancelot’s face turns surprised.

“You’ve not heard?” he says. “Morgana came out of nowhere and Uther took her back in, and then, in the dead of night, Cenred’s army marched into the citadel and took it. She wears the crown now, and she claims to be a Pendragon.”

Merlin halts. The blood leaves his face.

“And Arthur? Uther? Gaius and Gwen? What about everyone else?”

“Most of them got out; Uther’s in the citadel, but Arthur’s with the rest of us,” Lancelot says. He swallows, visibly conflicted. “Merlin, where the hell have you been?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Merlin says. “What’s the plan?”

“They’re all hiding out not far from here. There’s an old castle,” Lancelot says, pointing vaguely behind him. He takes up his sword again and walks to Merlin. He clasps his shoulder, smiling. Merlin can’t help but flinch. Lancelot releases him.

“Will you tell me?”

He shuts his eyes.

“I can’t. Not now.”

“We’re planning an attack,” Lancelot says. “We’d be lucky to have your skills on our side. I think everyone would be happy to see you again, too.”

“I can’t,” he says.

“What? Why?”

“Lancelot….”

“Whatever it is, we still want what’s best for you,” he says gently. It nearly does Merlin in, out in the clear air where he can see what he’s done, but it doesn’t; he’s too focused on stopping Morgana. “I’ll help you however I can.”

“I need to get back into Camelot, to get the kingdom back in Arthur’s hands,” Merlin says, pretending Lancelot never spoke. He looks out at the tree line. “If I stay near here, can you tell me when you plan to move?”

“Will you join us then?”

“I’ll be close behind,” Merlin promises. Lancelot nods.

“I’ll find a place for you in the castle; I’ll tell you when we plan to leave,” Lancelot says, holding out his arm. Merlin shakes it solidly. “You don’t know how happy I am that you’re okay, Merlin.”

“Won’t they notice if you walk in with me?”

“We’ll sneak in the back way,” Lancelot replies with a wink.

“No, it’s fine,” Merlin says hastily. He stops walking and murmurs a few quiet words. His magic surges and stretches his skin, bends his bones, until he can breathe again. When he does, he opens his eyes, and Lancelot is staring back, looking both shocked and impressed.

“My god,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ve been practicing.”

“Had a lot of time on my hands,” Merlin mutters. His voice is deeper. He touches his hair, now longer, and feels the scruff on his face. His body feels wider, more muscular, more weathered – more befitting the trials he suffered. He rather likes it. “Let’s go.”

They walk quietly back to the castle; Lancelot still takes him through a different entrance, and they still do not exchange a word. They thankfully don’t come across any of the others. He leaves him in a room not far from where the rest of them are staying.

“Whatever it is—,” Lancelot begins.

“You’d be disappointed,” Merlin says curtly.

“Do you regret any of it?”

“I can’t tell,” he replies. “I can’t say I feel very much right now. It’s all very messy up here,” he says, tapping his head. Merlin tries for a goofy smile, but Lancelot only looks at him more sadly.

“Get some rest. We’ll probably be leaving in a day or so.”

“Will you be back?”

“Of course.”

Merlin settles into the darkness, alone again. He wonders whether Morgause has found him missing yet and what exactly she will do when she finds out he’s not in his little tower. His blood boils at the thought of her – at the thought she believed she could keep _him_ locked up. No. Merlin will need to show her that she is not exempt, not when she treated him the way Uther had.

Merlin shudders at the thought of seeing Uther again. As much as he hates him, he feels safer and more satisfied with an entire kingdom between them. Morgana and Morgause will kill him, and they probably intend to use Merlin to do so. They are both so prone to the dramatics.

Something is definitely wrong, though. What Lancelot told him makes little sense with what he knows of Morgana’s departure from Camelot. So when Lancelot returns with food, Merlin inquires further.

“What happened with Morgana?” Merlin asks, once they’ve eaten.

“What do you know?”

“Just that she hasn’t been in Camelot.”

“She disappeared, according to what I’ve heard,” Lancelot says. “Some people think the witch Morgause kidnapped her – there are reports that she was in the citadel that night – but she left dinner with Uther early after a bit of an argument and she never made it to her chambers. Gwen was beside herself,” Lancelot pauses. “What’s wrong?”

“Was there any talk of poison?”

“Poison? Not that I heard,” he replies. “Gwen said she looked rather unwell when she left, but poison…. I don’t think so.”

Merlin sat back.

“No. That – it doesn’t make sense,” he murmurs.

“Merlin?”

“No! They said—”

Lancelot grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him hard. He stops.

“You’re starting to scare me,” Lancelot says slowly. “Breathe. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I – no. It won’t do any good.”

“Merlin, please; I think—”

“It doesn’t matter. Let me be. Please,” Merlin says, finally too tired to keep up the charade. Lancelot takes the plates and leaves without a word, but the sharp questions he bites back linger like a bad odor between them. Merlin looses an angry sound.

He doesn’t think about it. He reaches deep into his magic; though he never saw the spell, Merlin knows what it requires. He remembers. The air shimmers and slows. He opens his eyes and he sees his mother sitting across from him, her face worn and tired but smiling brightly all the same. Merlin throws himself into her arms and begins to sob.

“Oh my boy,” she says into his hair. “What have you done?”

“I couldn’t handle it,” he hiccupped. “It was too much.”

“You did the best you could, given the circumstances,” Hunith says. “Go on and cry, now. You deserve it.”

He lets go and doesn’t come back to himself until much later. He fears he’s imagined it all, but his mother is still there, the spell still holding. Merlin draws away slowly. She cradles his face and runs her fingers over his beard.

“This is nice,” she says.

“Thanks.”

“Merlin, love.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t regret it,” he says. “I can’t right now. Maybe someday, but I don’t have the luxury.”

Hunith softens.

“I saw it all, Merlin,” she says. She hesitates, as though she doesn’t know if she should say what’s on her mind. Merlin looks at her hard and she says, “Arthur put up a strong fight to save me.”

“Did he now.”

“He did,” she says fiercely. “He’s a good man.”

“He didn’t save you,” Merlin says.

“He couldn’t. Uther made up his mind,” she says. “He could do nothing to change that.”

“I know, but—”

“Then let it go, Merlin,” she says slowly. “Don’t cling to it. See that Arthur is not his father. He came to see me the night before I died and I made him promise to keep watch over you. He swore he would do everything in his power to keep you safe from Uther.”

Merlin freezes.

“From Uther? What does that mean? Does he know?”

“Not in so many words, but he knew you’d be under scrutiny,” Hunith says. “He did everything he could.”

“Not really. I’m still here, like this,” he says bitterly. Merlin can feel the terribly taste of regret creeping up the back of his throat. He swallows it down.

“You blocked him out, Merlin. You didn’t trust him – you trusted Morgana instead,” she says, her tone cutting through his still-hazy mind.

“I want Arthur to be safe,” he says, his voice hollow.

“I know.”

“I wish I’d never had to leave him. It’s all on Uther.”

“You almost went back,” she says.

“Yes, but that was before he killed Balinor, too.”

His mother frowns.

“Balinor is not dead, Merlin,” she says.

“What?”

“Arthur persuaded him to help Camelot, and Uther, after a lot of convincing on Arthur’s part, let Balinor go free. He’s in that very same cave where you met him,” she says. Her voice shakes.

“What is it?”

He’s terribly unsteady now.

“It’s – there are things you don’t know, Merlin, but they are for another time. Seek Balinor out again, once Arthur is safe,” she says. Merlin nods, vowing it. “Don’t you see now what Morgana and Morgause did?”

“They… tricked me,” Merlin says. He feels truly sick, unable to stop the bad taste from flooding his mouth or the cold that washes over him like ice water, waking him after a fitful sleep. “Oh, god. They lied.”

His mother nods sadly. “I wish I could have shown you the truth then.”

“I was going to go back to Camelot and deal with it my way. I could have – oh _god_ ,” Merlin says. He swears loudly and his magic escapes, cracking the wall behind him. “Oh, hell. Someone’s going to come here.”

“You know I can’t stay longer anyway,” Hunith says. Her eyes shine. “If you must shed blood again, Merlin, let it be of those who hurt you, and no more than necessary. You can choose to be strong again. I know you can. Keep Arthur safe.”

“I swear it,” he nods fervently. “I don’t want to lose you again, mother.”

“I will never leave you,” she promises, kissing his cheek. Merlin closes his eyes and lets the spell go. The air in the room flows again and Merlin falls back against the wall. The strain on his still-healing body, under the transformation spell, is too much. He closes his eyes and lets the darkness take him.

When he wakes, there is only one option for Merlin. He drops the façade, glad to be back in his own skin, and makes himself invisible. He creeps into the hall where the rest of his old friends are still sleeping. He thought it would be difficult to be so close to them and yet be incapable of being closer, but it’s not; he’d rather keep them at a safe distance, to keep them safe from what he is now. They’ve moved on. He isn’t part of their lives anymore. His blood sings at the thought of what shambles his life has become.

His breath catches at the sight of Arthur awake, sitting by the fire, his hair alight like a halo. He has something in his hands, something thin and red. Merlin gets as close as he dares get and it’s obvious what it is – his neckerchief, the one he’d used to bind his wound when he’d turned up in Balinor’s cave before Merlin left.

Arthur kept it, after all this time.

He folds the neckerchief up carefully and tucks it away. Arthur lies down on the floor, kicking out and nearly grazing Merlin’s leg. He takes it as a sign and Merlin drags himself away before anything can truly go wrong. He takes a piece of bread and leaves the castle behind him.

The sun is only just starting to rise. He considers transforming but it’ll cost him too much energy. Merlin walks from the castle to the outskirts of Camelot without stopping once. When he gets there, he unsheathes a knife he nicked from the castle and drags the nearest foreign soldier into an alleyway. When he puts up a fight, Merlin cuts his throat cleanly and collects the blood in his palm.

He casts a variation on his spell and smears the blood on his face like war paint, using his fingers to mark his skin with wide, bold streaks, to ring his eyes in scarlet. It will mask him so that no one will see Merlin, son of Hunith, or Merlin, manservant to Prince Arthur, or even Merlin, the dead man. They see the fabled Skeleton Boy, with his cloak long and dark as the midwinter night, his skin white as bone, his limbs just as spindly and spare. They will see the face of the nightmares of Camelot’s nobility for the last year or so, his eyes sunken into deep, dark holes, and all will stand aside for him.

The guards wearing Cenred’s colors run at the sight of him striding across the courtyard and up the steps, and those wearing Camelot red do not budge. Merlin does nothing to them. He’s too busy relishing the pulsing darkness in his chest, his hollow ribcage, and the way it courses through the spaces in his body like lifeblood. It is the only thing that fills him now that Morgana is close, now that he’s finally found a better path.

He feels nothing, no nostalgia or sadness, as he makes his way to the throne room through the familiar white halls. Cenred’s guards at the throne room jump into action, but one look at his face and they cower in their corners. Merlin flicks his hand and their necks snap. He opens the doors and strides into the open space before the throne.

Morgana and Cenred are conversing over a sheet of parchment. The guards drop their weapons and run, and they look up at him. Cenred draws his sword, but he staggers back in surprise.

“Ah,” Morgana says. Her face is pale, and her lips quiver just a little as she forces a smile on them; she has never really seen Merlin in this form. “Good. I take it Morgause sent you.”

Merlin nods.

“She was detained. She’ll return soon,” he says, walking up to the throne. “You’ve done well for yourself in the last week or so.”

“I have. What do you think?” Morgana asks, waving an arm. She touches lightly the glittering crown on her head.

“I’m proud of you. You’ve taken what’s yours, my lady,” Merlin says, kneeling. He bows his head. “I follow you and you alone.”

“I’m pleased,” Morgana says with a breathless little laugh. “Thank you, Merlin. You don’t know how much that reassures me.”

He stands and inclines his head again.

“We’ll take our revenge,” he vows.

“I have some work to do now but I hope you’ll join me in an hour,” Morgana says gleefully. “You’ve arrived just in time for Uther’s trial. Well, it’s not so much a trial as a punishment, or a public humiliation if I wish, but I would enjoy having your skills at my disposition, Merlin.”

“Do not call me that,” he says sharply.

“Okay… then, what?”

“Nothing. Don’t call me anything,” he says. “They call me the Skeleton Boy, but that’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“I’m rather fond of it,” Morgana says with a grin.

“It doesn’t matter,” Merlin says. “I’ll return here in an hour.”

“And Uther shall finally get his due,” Morgana states. Her lips start to curl into a semblance of a smile. “Oh! Before you leave, we are expecting Arthur soon. What will you do about that?”

It is a test, Merlin knows.

“I’ll do what I must,” he replies. “Morgause was very clear about what I need to do.”

“Good. Now go,” she says, relaxing in her throne properly now. Merlin departs, closing the doors behind him.

Merlin makes his way to the parapets. The guards do not leave when they see him, but they keep their distance from where he settles. The breeze is sickeningly warm. He closes his eyes and reaches out with his magic. The land responds instantly and reports back: Morgause is on the move, but so are Arthur and his men. Both are closing in on Camelot from different side. He watches Arthur regroup in the Darkling Wood while Morgause is mere minutes away from the gates to the lower town. Merlin curses under his breath.

Morgause appears in the courtyard below. She stops and looks up at him. Her lips tighten furiously. Merlin curses again and runs. He skids through the castle to get to the throne room but the bells start to ring.

_It’s too soon—_

“We’re under attack!” a guard shouts around the corner. Merlin presses on. He grunts and flails when Merlin slams him back against the wall and out of his way. One by one he picks off the guards between him and the throne room.

“Arthur better be bloody grateful for this,” he mutters as another one bleeds all over his shoes, though he knows he has no right to gratitude at this point. Merlin takes some of the blood and uses it to reinforce his appearance. He tucks a sword into his belt and covers it with his cloak. He rounds a corner and finds the hall before the throne room quiet and empty. The doors are open. He enters.

Uther is on his knees. Morgause stands by the throne where Morgana sits, and Cenred holds a blade to Uther’s neck. Morgana looks up at him with cold eyes.

“Ah. You’ve decided to join us, then? I thought you might run away again,” she says. Uther twists around and his face loses all color instantly.

“You,” he breathes. Merlin grins.

“I’m real,” he says plainly. “I wouldn’t dare leave, not now.”

“Morgause went to find you and you were gone,” Morgana says tersely. “How do you explain that?”

“I can’t,” Merlin says. “I’m here now, though.”

“He will betray us, sister,” Morgause hisses. “You cannot trust him.”

“I think we might be able to still,” she says. Morgana rises from the throne and walks to Merlin. “You’ll do our bidding, won’t you? You want to destroy the Pendragons just as much as we do.”

His eyes burn. Merlin’s head feels like it’s full of oily cotton again, like Morgana is trying to set him ablaze. He draws back from her touch.

“Of course,” he says woodenly. She accepts it. Merlin’s body shakes, but he holds his own. She does not notice. Morgana backs away.

“Now—”

The doors open. Arthur spills forth with Gwen, Lancelot, Leon, and two other knights on his heels. Their swords are drawn, their faces set, and it’s utterly endearing. Merlin rolls his eyes; their timing is truly impeccable. He murmurs a spell and breaks the ceiling, letting the debris separate them from him and the others.

Uther is shouting something. Morgana slaps him hard.

“How _dare_ you—”

“You are nothing, Uther. You would do well to remember that,” she snarls. She nods at Merlin. “My friend will show you precisely what I mean.”

Merlin kneels before Uther Pendragon, his limbs moving as though by another’s command, his head thick and clouded. His heart pushes blood so loudly through his body he cannot hear anything else that Morgana says. All he sees are Uther’s eyes, green as Morgana’s, hard and scared at the same time. Merlin feels no sympathy for him, only disdain. Merlin’s hands twitch, ready to begin, but a part of him is not as certain as he thought he would be, were he given Uther to punish.

“Well?” she says. Fury flares in his gut. Morgause’s voice turns the tide on the war in his head, reminding him suddenly, clearly, of his mother’s words—

“You lied to me,” Merlin says. He can hear Arthur and the others scrambling to get the rocks out of the way. Merlin stands and faces both Morgana and Morgause. “You manipulated me to get me on your side and keep me there.”

Morgana, alarmed, turned to her sister.

“This isn’t right. The spell—”

“He broke it,” she says sourly.

“It never took hold,” Merlin says proudly. “You can’t hurt me, not like that.”

“We know other ways.”

“Be careful. You’ve angered me already; do not make it worse.”

“Are you seriously threatening us?” Morgana asks incredulously. Merlin looks at Morgause. She is not amused. She, for once, understands what Merlin means. Her magic crackles, daring him, but Merlin wastes no time retaliating – he lets his spell go. Morgause’s head twists, her neck breaks very visibly, and she crumples like a rag doll.

Morgana screams.

“No!”

Uther gasps. Merlin turns around in time to see Cenred’s blade leave Uther’s body. The king slumps over. Merlin lets out a horrible sound and Cenred is thrown back against the wall. Blood flows out of his hair and down his face and he doesn’t stir again.

Morgana’s sobs bring him back to reality. Merlin turns back to her. Some of the rocks behind them shift and fall loudly. Morgana grabs the hem of robe and drags him to her.

“Why have you done this?” she asks.

“You betrayed me. You destroyed me.”

“No. That was _you_.”

“You used me!” Merlin shouts. “You – I trusted you, and I should never have – you are poison, Morgana.”

“Gladly so,” she spits. Before Merlin can stop her, she stands and plunges a dagger into his stomach once, twice, thrice. Merlin gasps and staggers back. Pain blooms in his gut, but it is nothing unusual. He starts to smile, familiar coldness filling him, contrasting with the warmth on his stomach.

“You should not have done that.”

Morgana takes Morgause’s body into her arms. Merlin takes Uthers’. Their eyes meet.

“I would do it again,” she says.

“Was there really no other way?”

“You would have betrayed your kind much sooner if we hadn’t acted then,” she says. “We did it for you, Merlin.”

“You should not have done that,” he repeats icily. The pain turns uncomfortable. He gasps as blood lurches out of the hole in his abdomen. He clutches at it. He makes to draw his sword, but his limbs feel like lead.

He’s aware of the ceiling starting to collapse again, Morgana’s eyes red and gold and full of hatred; he raises Uther and clears the debris from the door. Arthur and the others pull their swords, but Merlin pushes past them, shouting for them to run. So they run. Someone takes Uther’s other side and they hobble all the way to the other side of the castle, as far from Morgana as possible. They deposit Uther in his own chambers, the walls still shaking from Morgana’s wrath and scattering dust from the ceiling onto their heads. Only once Arthur tucks his father into the bed does Merlin begin his retreat.

“Wait!” someone who sounds very much like Lancelot shouts. He ignores him. Merlin breaks into a run, holding his bleeding abdomen. He needs to rest and heal – he needs the earth to attend to him – but he can hardly walk. He runs, pushing right through the agony.

“He’s hurt. Find him! He won’t get far!”

Arthur, this time. Merlin runs faster.

He runs until he finds a window. Merlin throws himself straight through the glass and transforms without thinking. He flies for the woods. He just barely makes it. He crashes through the branches and hits the ground _hard_. He turns back into his human form and knows that something is broken in his arm, but the earth is taking him in already. He’s already starting to heal.

For the first time, however, the earth rejects him.

Merlin wakes in the night still hurt, still broken, his mind still very much in a haze of smoke and darkness. He’s moving without thinking, his magic just barely protecting him from prying eyes. He doesn’t have it in him to make those who look like they may have seen him forget his face; he keeps going, his body hardly working. His magic coughs and struggles. His magic bleeds, and Merlin feels cold all over. He climbs the steps to Gaius’s room. He pushes the door open, eager for the warm fire he knows is waiting behind it.

He collapses through the door and hits the floor, heavy as a corpse. Merlin is vaguely aware of the voices turning and shouting around him, but it’s comforting, the noise. It’s better than the din in his head, than the screams that linger, though they have begun to fade. Merlin knows he’s fading, too. He might be strong, but he’s not invincible. Merlin breathes in the sweet smell of the herbs under his nose and finally relaxes into the cool arms of unconsciousness.


	9. Chapter 9

He rouses at the sound of a door slamming shut. He tries to open his eyes, but they’re stubbornly shut. Merlin’s mouth is dry and tastes like a dead rabbit. He tries to listen to the voices beyond the door, but it’s no use. He’s too weak. He manages to force his eyes open. Compared to the last time he found himself in a room by himself, he’s far more confused and far more comfortable.

That is, until he realizes that he’s in _his_ room, in Gaius’s chambers in Camelot.

He vaults out of bed and scrambles. His clothes are nowhere to be found. Merlin tears the cupboard doors open but, no, of course there aren’t any clothes, he’s been dead for over a year now. He changes tactics. Merlin throws the window open; it’s bright out with only a few clouds in the sky. There are signs of recovery in the city below. Merlin prepares to transform only to find that his magic is weak beyond compare. He starts to shake before he can even formulate the transformation spell. Merlin steps back off the bench and eases himself onto the bed.

His head is screaming again.

The door opens. Instinctually Merlin throws a hand up in defense, but he doesn’t have the strength to keep it up more than a few moments.

“Merlin,” Gaius says. He’s paler than his thin white hair. His face looks more lined than ever and he’s more stooped than Merlin remembers. He rushes to Merlin’s side and reaches for him. “Merlin. You’re….”

“Alive,” he says dully. He feels so tired all of a sudden. He sits on the bed.

“I can see that,” he says, astonished, “though you nearly killed me when you fell through the door.”

“I… I’m sorry,” he says. His resolve starts to break.

“Lie back. I’m still trying to treat your injuries and you running about the room isn’t helping,” he says with a gentle push. Merlin falls back against the pillow.

“Who else was here that night?” Merlin asks as Gaius checks various cuts and bruises on his body. His arm hurts terribly; it’s broken, by the looks of it, most likely from the fall through the trees.

“Lancelot,” he replies. “Lie still. I’m going to check the wounds on your abdomen. You’re fortunate it was only him and he already knew.”

“I happened upon him in the forest on the way here,” Merlin winces. He looks down when Gaius unwraps his torso; three very clear stab wounds cluster left of center.

“Your organs healed decently but it’s as though you stopped healing halfway through,” Gaius murmurs.

“The earth kicked me out,” he says.

“You’ll need to give me a little more than that, Merlin,” says Gaius.

Merlin turns his head away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back,” he says, “but I was hurt badly, and then I was deceived, but I made bad choices and I… I should leave, when I’m okay.”

“Merlin!” he says suddenly. “Why would you leave now? Arthur—”

“Does he know?” Merlin asks sharply. “Tell me, Gaius.”

“No, not yet, but I presume—”

“Don’t presume,” Merlin says. “I have other business to attend to when we’re through here.”

“What happened, my boy?”

“Nothing good.”

“I have heard the tales of the Skeleton Boy,” Gaius says, putting his medical tools aside. “I’ve kept close tabs on those rumors and listened to the stories of the survivors. I realized it was no Shade early on, and there is only one with magic strong enough to create such an illusion. I am an old man, but I have keen ears and a keen mind.”

Merlin doesn’t look up at him.

“Do you want an admission? An apology?”

“I don’t believe I need one; I saw with my own eyes,” Gaius says cryptically.

“Then what do you want from me?”

“I want you to come home,” he says softly.

“I’m not the same. They… I’ve changed quite a lot,” Merlin says, “but that’s what’s going to help me now.”

“With what?”

“Morgana,” Merlin says. He starts to smile around the coldness permeating from his chest. “She’s the root of all this. She is… hatred and darkness and bitterness, and I let all that into me when I should never – it’s too late now, but I’ll find her.”

Gaius looks at him sadly.

“I know you will.”

He hands him a thick potion. Merlin eyes it questioningly.

“There’s work I must do, and I’d rather you not be conscious for it,” Gaius says. Merlin nods and makes to drink it, but Gaius catches his hand and stops him. “Lancelot will be by tonight to see you. He’s been here every evening since the battle. Will you allow him? I can ask him to come tomorrow if you need more time.”

Merlin almost breaks again then. He exhales messily and shakes his head. Gaius releases his hand.

“Thank you, Gaius.”

He downs the potion hastily.

 

* * *

 

For three days Merlin lets Gaius tend to his wounds while fixing a questioning glare on him. There’s an unforgiving curl to his lips, one he knows he deserves. Merlin knows the horrible heartbreak Gaius must have suffered, and to find it was for naught, to learn that Merlin hadn’t contacted him after all that time – and considering what he’d done during that time – was definitely upsetting him. Merlin switches between wanting to tell Gaius every detail of what happened and being utterly incapable of anything but working out where Morgana could have gone.

The nights are the worst: he tosses and turns and the screams never stop. During the day they are soft and Merlin often dulls his ears to keep them out, but at night, for some reason, there’s nothing he can do to protect himself. The magic of whatever Morgana and Morgause attempted to do to him was too strong, and perhaps deeper rooted than he realized. He found himself trying to leave Gaius’s chambers several times, once he had enough strength in him to stand up and move around. Only, each time he never wanted to go – he simply found himself at the door, his body shaking and coated in sweat, as though he’d fought long and hard to even hesitate over the door handle.

After the fourth time, Gaius eases him back into bed and returns a while later with his favorite food for dinner. Merlin wolfs it down until the energy leaves his body. Gaius feeds him the rest and then sets the bowl aside.

“You know I cannot treat you unless you tell me what happened,” Gaius starts.

“Don’t,” Merlin interrupts. He shuts his eyes. “If I tell you, you’ll… you will be so disappointed.”

“You should have told us you were okay,” Gaius says. “You were all the family I had, Merlin, and you disappeared! Then the King dismissed it as a common kidnapping, said the patrol found your body in the woods…. My worst fears were realized that day.”

“I’m still here.”

Gaius purses his lips.

“I was… furious. Hurt. Uther arrested me on weak charges, had me tortured until my magic couldn’t deal with it anymore,” says Merlin. His throat feels so dry all of a sudden, like the words in his mouth are too large to swallow. “He had me left in the woods for dead, dropped into a well to drown.”

“Oh, my….”

“I managed,” Merlin says weakly. “I was hurt badly. A man in a cave took care of me. Then Arthur turned up looking for help with the dragon and I just wasn’t ready to see him again, after everything that happened – I was still so angry with Uther, and Arthur was _there_ , yet all I wanted to do was help him! It made no sense. Balinor thought so, but I told him to come here, so he did, and then they told me Uther had him killed and that was the end of it. I was prepared to do everything I could to destroy Uther for the way he hurt those who only wanted to help his kingdom.”

“Merlin,” Gaius interrupts. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing!”

“Breathe more slowly,” he says. “You’ve suffered, clearly. I want you to tell me everything, in your own time.”

“I will,” Merlin mumbles. All energy is leaving him rapidly. “I’m a bit of a monster now, Gaius. If I thought I was before, there’s no denying it now.”

“I can see you’re still my boy,” Gaius says, clasping his hand firmly, “monster or not.”

He blinks hard and tears stream out in hot bands down his face. Gaius wipes them away roughly with a cloth and stands up.

“How’s Arthur?” Merlin blurts.

“He’s managing. Uther’s health continues to fail, so Arthur is preparing to take the crown,” Gaius explains, “as much as he wishes he did not need to so soon.”

“What does…,” Merlin trails off. Gaius gives him a questioning look. He clears his throat. “What does Arthur know of me? My fate?”

“He told me once he didn’t believe what his father said about your death, and then another time, a while after he returned from fetching Balinor, that he knew for certain his father had lied,” Gaius says. “I haven’t got a clue what he means by all that.”

“It’s been ages since then,” Merlin says, shutting his eyes. “Surely he’s accepted I’m gone.”

Gaius doesn’t respond to him. He closes the door quietly as he leaves. Merlin listens to him bustle about his workbench, moving bottles and cauldrons about. He listens until his body relaxes and he can feel the thrum of the citadel alive with people moving about within the walls. He can feel Arthur close to Uther’s dying body. There are others in the room, likely other mourners who were close to the King. Merlin recognizes one as a noble whom he had spared. There are others, clearly here for the King, strewn about the Citadel and the outskirts of the town. One of them, even at such a distance from Merlin, has a presence that feels foul. He cannot stop himself from drifting into sleep now, but he makes a mental note to ask Gaius about the visiting mourners in the morning.

 

* * *

 

Merlin still refuses to let Lancelot visit him even after a week of recovering in Gaius’s care, even when he is able to move about with only minimal pain and his arm is essentially healed, thanks to his slowly recovering magic.

“Will you stay?” Gaius asks over dinner one night.

“Hmm?”

“Do you plan to stay in Camelot now?”

Merlin puts the spoon down.

“You know I can’t.”

“Uther is dying, Merlin. You could resurface and—”

“It’s not so simple,” he cuts in. “Morgana is still out there. I need to deal with her before I do anything else.”

“Arthur—”

“Arthur won’t know the difference.”

Merlin stands abruptly; he turns away to hide the grimace on his face. He pulls out his old cloak and is barely about to swing it over his shoulders.

“Merlin….”

“I need to go, Gaius. My magic won’t hold out much longer unless I go and try and mend things with the earth. I’ll be back.”

“Take Lancelot with you, at least.”

Merlin bites his lip, considering it, before nodding. It wouldn’t be helpful to pass out in the Darkling Wood, be found by the patrol, and then imprisoned in Camelot before he could track Morgana down.

“I’ll send a servant to find him.”

Gaius leaves, and then the screaming hits him full force. It’s as if Merlin never left the room at the old castle. The wailing goes on until he thinks his ears are bleeding. There’s blood on his hands when he looks at them, anyway, but it’s also under his fingernails. Merlin spreads it in his palm with his index finger until the sounds in his head subside. His head throbs when the door opens.

Lancelot’s hands are warm and steady as they help him to his feet.

“Forest,” he says, and Lancelot understands. They take the most secluded route out of the citadel, easily bypassing the guards dozing off at their posts. Merlin doesn’t stop him until the white walls of Camelot have disappeared behind the leafy trees.

They sit on the ground in the fading twilight.

“What do you need?” Lancelot asks quietly.

Merlin closes his eyes and leans back against the tree. The roots start to shift for him. The earth is tentative, scared, but he is gentle this time. He tries not to demand and bang on its doorstep. He makes it clear he wants to heal their bond. Merlin opens one eye to find Lancelot watching tensely.

“Do what you need to do,” Lancelot says quickly, looking away.

He sinks into the earth and lets himself be buried deep beneath the tree. Merlin breathes in the dirt, the ripe smell of fungi working and bugs decomposing, of nature’s work and sweat. His wounds fill with mud. The darkness in his chest doesn’t shift, but it presses inward, the edges of the chasm narrowed by the roots seeking purchase in him, crossing him like stitches. They twist and dance down the sides of the hole, seeking something out, but Merlin’s heart flutters on contact. His body yearns for it, and yet his reflexes make him recoil.

It takes a long time for Merlin to let the earth back in, and after a while the earth did not have so hard a time forgiving him.

Merlin emerges facing the canopy of leaves overhead with a few stars peeking through the spaces. Lancelot is awake, though his face is soft with sleep. He blinks a couple of times before jumping into action, hurrying to Merlin’s side as he disentangles himself from the roots.

“Merlin,” he says.

“Lancelot,” Merlin nods. His voice is thick from disuse. Lancelot’s eyes slide down to where Merlin unconsciously touches the healing stab wounds. His face shutters.

“You are the Skeleton Boy,” he says. Merlin can hear in his words than he’s been selecting them carefully for hours.

“Yes.”

“I… okay. Alright,” he says.

Merlin stares.

“What?”

“I trust you, Merlin. You’ve experienced terrible things, and there’s no doubt that it changed you, but I can see my friend in you right now. Whatever you’ve done, it doesn’t matter to me in this moment,” Lancelot says calmly. “I only wish I could have helped you sooner.”

“I want Morgana dead,” Merlin states. “I need to keep Arthur safe, and that’s the only way to do it.”

“I think we all want her dead, Merlin, after what she did,” Lancelot says.

“It’s my fault. I should never have listened to her. Morgause… I think she already knew about her being Uther’s daughter,” Merlin says. “She said something once and it only makes sense if she knew. I should have figured it out sooner.”

“You couldn’t have—”

“I’m more powerful than both of them,” he interrupts. Bitterness floods his mouth, douses his spine icily. “I could have. I know it. I didn’t want to, though. I liked who I was. I liked being able to use my magic freely.”

“Even like that? By hurting people?”

“It was incredible, at the time,” Merlin admits. “I needed to let out some of the anger in me. It was like… a river flowing after being stoppered up.”

“Rivers calm eventually,” Lancelot says.

“Not all do.”

“Then they’re stoppered up again.”

“Yes.”

Merlin tears up a handful of grass from beside his knee. He sprinkles the blades over his other hand. The wind carries most of them away, but it’s not enough to cleanse him. Merlin looks up at Lancelot.

“Would you like to know what happened?”

“Only if you think it’ll help me understand, but I think I see,” Lancelot says. Merlin quirks an eyebrow. “Camelot and Uther hurt you horribly. Then, Morgause and Morgana used your pain against you. They told you lies and manipulated you into doing what they needed you to do. They tried to control you, but you broke free. You saw what was happening and you broke their spell over you. You came here. You saved Camelot and Arthur and all of us – none of us would be alive if you hadn’t come along. The king may be dying, but you’re still the better man for having saved him from Morgana’s fury. You are, in short, as brave and righteous and good a man as any I ever knew; you’re still my friend.”

Merlin hates himself for reacting like this. He’s learned so well to control his outward expressions of emotion, to keep his feelings in check, to play his part perfectly – he learned most of these things while still in Camelot, in all honesty – but this is too much.

“Have I got it right?” Lancelot asks with such a hopeful smile that it makes Merlin’s body _hurt_.

“No. I’m not a hero. I’m the farthest thing from good and righteous now,” Merlin says, struggling to keep his voice steady. He hastily wipes at his eyes when Lancelot glances away.

“You are braver than almost every knight I know,” he says. Merlin shakes his head.

“Congrats on that, by the way,” Merlin says, pointing at the Pendragon crest on his bright red cape. Lancelot grins hugely.

“Arthur broke all the rules and knighted a bunch of us, even though we aren’t nobility.”

“I’m proud of him,” Merlin says.

“Me, too. He’s been talking of changing the magic ban for ages, Merlin,” Lancelot says, leaning close. “Arthur is just as noble and… prattish as ever,” he says with a grin, “but he’s changed, too.”

“I believe it,” Merlin says softly. “I wish I could—”

“You will,” he replies. “Whenever you’re ready, you’ll go and speak to him.”

“You really think you still know me so well?”

Coolness fills the space between them. Lancelot leans away. Merlin sighs.

“I know you think you understand what happened,” says Merlin slowly, “but you’ll never know just how I’ve suffered, and how much of it is my own fault and by my choices. I cannot go to Arthur now, not while Uther lives.”

“Do you still want him dead?” Lancelot asks.

“It’s all I’ve wanted since he left me to die.”

Merlin sits upright. He feels taller and more at home in his body.

“I won’t, though. I promise,” he adds. “Arthur is my priority again. I should never have let that change, and it won’t ever again. I won’t hurt him like that, no matter how much Uther deserves it.”

Lancelot looks considerably relieved, which irks Merlin, strangely. He stands up and brushes the dirt off his clothes, then looks down at his companion.

“They did not enchant me, Lancelot,” he says softly. “I chose to stay. I chose to torture Uther’s allies, and I enjoyed it. I wanted to do it.”

“They manipulated you.”

“Yes, but let’s face it: I was stronger both of them,” Merlin says. His head feels heavy and thick, almost slick on his neck, ready to roll away. “They may have lied and manipulated me, but at the end of the day, I stayed because some part of me wanted to help them.”

_And now I know I made the wrong choice_ , but he doesn’t have the energy to say it.

“Merlin—”

“You’re wrong about me, Lancelot,” he says, pulling the hood up. His ears ring, faint screams echoing back from his depths. “The old Merlin is in here, but he’s dying fast, and neither of us can stop it.”

“Merlin, wait!”

He doesn’t wait. He doesn’t listen. He keeps to the shadows, his only friends now, and makes his way back to Gaius’s chambers without Lancelot.

Only, just as he climbs the stairs to where dinner surely awaits, the warning bell sounds. Merlin sprints up and straight to the back room. A few moments later, Sir Leon and another knight with tree-like arms whom Merlin doesn’t recognize enter.

“Gaius, we’re searching for an intruder,” Leon announces. “We’ll make it fast.”

“What intruder?”

“That cloaked man from the battle was just seen entering the citadel,” he explains as he checks in the closet. Merlin darts back from the door and climbs into the cupboard. He locks it with his magic and holds his breath.

“Gaius,” the other knight asks, “do you have company in the back room?”

“No, Sir Percival,” Gaius says, feigning ignorance perfectly.

“It’s just… you’ve got two plates of food set out,” he says. Merlin can hear the frown around his words.

“Oh. Well, I had a patient earlier, and I expected him to stay for dinner, but he recovered more heartily than I anticipated,” he says with a chuckle. “I was planning to bring the food to a friend in the lower town instead.”

“Very well,” Leon says. “I’ll check the room and we’ll leave you alone, Gaius.”

The door opens. Merlin can’t see through the cracks in the cabinet door, but he can feel the rigidity in Leon’s stance as he walks around his tiny bed and in front of the cabinet. He feels the faintest tug and nearly cries aloud – the corner of his cloak is caught in the door and now between Leon’s fingers.  

Leon, however, departs with an apology for intruding on Gaius’s precious time. Merlin tumbles out of the cabinet only once Gaius calls out for him.

“He saw the cloak, Gaius,” Merlin gasps, scrambling to his feet. Gaius looks stricken. “I’m sorry! I should have hidden better but I didn’t have time, it got caught in the—”

“It’s fine, my boy,” Gaius says, sitting on the bed.

“They’re going to go to Arthur,” Merlin realizes.

“Stop pacing,” he says. “Yes. They’ll go to Arthur. Then Arthur will come to me demanding an explanation, and I will—”

“Lie. You’ll come as close to the truth as possible, but it’ll be a lie,” says Merlin. He shakes his head vigorously. His heart is pounding with the desperation in him for something to _change_. “No. No more lies.”

He yanks the door open as he ties the telltale cloak around his neck.

“Merlin!”

“I’m going to fix this, Gaius. I swear it,” he says with one look back. He looks old and hunched, still so much more weathered than Merlin recalls, sitting on his tiny, stiff bed. Merlin draws his hood around his face, casts a faint glamour, and takes off at a run for Arthur’s chambers.

 

* * *

 

Merlin waits around the corner until he sees Leon and Percival leave. He listens closely, but he only hears snatches of their conversation. Arthur, mercifully, decides to go see Gaius in a little while. The knights go in one direction and Merlin quickly follows, catching the door silently just before it shuts. His heart hammers as he slips into Arthur’s chambers. He closes the door with a faint click.

Arthur glows golden between the candles, standing over books and papers at his desk. He’s writing something feverishly, the quill scratching a grating sound against the silence. Merlin keeps to the shadows and draws closer.

The sword unsheathes. Arthur is on him in a heartbeat, blade at his throat.

“Who are you?” he demands.

Merlin hasn’t dropped the glamour, he realizes.

“Answer me!” Arthur shouts. The blade starts to draw blood. Merlin reacts without thinking and pushes Arthur away without using an ounce of magic. Arthur quavers slightly as he raises the blade again.

“You saved my father, and yet you ran. You are a scourge on this land, a demon in human form. You are a _sorcerer_ ,” Arthur sneers, “and yet you ran once my father was safe.”

“I ran once _you_ were safe,” Merlin says before he can stop himself. Arthur’s stance shakes. “I saved him for you. I got you all out _for you_.”

“And Morgause? Did you kill her for me, too?”

“To keep you safe, yes! But it was also for me,” Merlin adds. He forces the screaming down. “She and Morgana helped make me like this. I can’t forgive them for that.”

Arthur lunges forward with the sword again.

“How can I believe you when you took off like a common assassin?” he says in a low voice.

“You can’t really,” he says, swallowing, letting the glamour fall, “but not everything is about you, you self-centered arrogant dollophead.”

The sword wavers and drops.

“Who are you?” He sounds well and truly afraid now.

Merlin stands stiffly, waiting. Arthur yanks the hood back. He steps away, eyes wide and blue but for the golden glint of the candles in the stand next to them. Merlin raises his shaking hands in surrender; it’s the only action he’s made lately that feels absolutely right.

Fixed on Arthur’s gaze, he says, “I’m not dead; I’m yours, Arthur.”


	10. Chapter 10

His lips, first parted in shock, purse tightly, clearly holding back _something_. He grabs his sword off the ground. Arthur closes the gap between them so quickly Merlin’s surprised Arthur hasn’t done it to run him through. The sword point hovers at his neck, Arthur’s arm bent and shaking. His body is brimming with emotion, but his face is a mask.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin breathes. His chest hurts with how _true_ it is. “I never meant to leave.”

“Then why did you?”

“Your father put me to death,” Merlin says, “for—”

“You know what? I don’t care.”

He throws the sword aside, grabs Merlin’s face, and crushes their mouths together. Merlin hits the wall, pinned back flat by Arthur’s body, his armor digging into his chest. He reacts without thinking – and kisses Arthur right back, meeting the anger, the pressure, the dry, chapped drag of lips harshly enough to draw blood measure for measure. Arthur’s fingers press bruises into his jaw, moving down his neck until his thumb digs into his collarbone. He lets out a feral sound and tears the neckerchief away from his neck. He tosses it and Merlin’s dark cloak aside.

Arthur steps back. His mouth is messy and red, his eyes dark, his chest rising and falling as though he’s fighting the battle to end all battles. He pulls the tattered red neckerchief from within his armor and holds it out.

“You – _this_ was all you left, and you thought that was okay?”

He throws it on the ground between them.

“I didn’t think—”

“Evidently,” Arthur snorts.

“Your father murdered me. First he killed my mother, and then he left me to die,” Merlin says harshly. “I had every reason to want to stay away from Camelot.”

“What about _me_?”

“You?” Merlin blinks. He pauses, still out of breath. “I – you have to understand how badly I was hurt. I couldn’t stay with you when you came to Balinor.”

“He never said he knew you,” Arthur says, eyes narrowing.

“No. I asked him not to,” Merlin admits. Arthur’s glare hardens. “I didn’t want to risk someone dragging me back here.”

“You’re here now. Why? Why now?” Arthur shouts.

“I needed to protect you, Arthur.”

It seems so obvious to Merlin; Arthur, however, barks out a laugh and drags his finger through his hair.

“You’ve – no. It doesn’t matter.”

He moves toward Merlin again but Merlin stops him with a hand on his chest. Arthur falters. Merlin slowly starts removing his armor, Arthur frozen in place like a statue or one of the Skeleton Boy’s victims. Nothing like magic holds him there, though.

“I don’t expect forgiveness. Terrible as it was, I did the best I could,” Merlin says, placing the armor aside and moving to Arthur’s front to remove the belt, his voice sounding so far removed from his ears, “given what happened.”

“I still don’t know,” he says hoarsely. Merlin looks at Arthur. His skin his warm and flushed, his eyes still dark and hungry. Merlin grasps the bottom of the chainmail and slides it off Arthur’s body gently, leaning in close to guide it over his head.

“Do you want to know?” Merlin asks quietly, setting the mail on the table. Arthur grabs and spins him around so quickly that the chainmail slides and falls over the other side of the table, pulling several papers and a book with it. Arthur crowds Merlin up against the edge, forcing a knee between his legs.

“I want to.”

“Right now? Or is there… something else?”

Merlin licks his lips and starts to smile. Arthur looks as desperate as any common man with a thirst, a basic need, which Merlin didn’t realize how equally desperate he is to quench until the moment he entered Arthur’s room.

It isn’t as if Merlin doesn’t have the same thirst.

“Sire?”

He’s on him like a flame to oil, and his lips burn Merlin’s skin, sucking hard, his tongue leaving a trail of fire on his throat. Arthur attacks his collarbones with such focus and determination it makes Merlin laugh through the fog of pleasure. Arthur pulls back, teeth scraping lightly over a spot he’s left that’ll bruise brilliantly by morning, and scowls.

“What?”

“You’re too serious.”

“This _is_ serious.”

“Is it?”

“Merlin,” he says pointedly. Before he can continue, Merlin kisses him. He shoves his tongue right through Arthur’s lovely pink lips as he fights Arthur clear across the room until he has the prince on his back on his bed. Merlin releases him, leaving Arthur gasping, to strip off his shirt. He climbs onto him, straddling his hips.

“God above,” Arthur breathes. He touches Merlin’s sides, his thumb tracing a rib right where an old greenish scar continues to fade away. His grip tightens and Merlin finds himself flat on Arthur’s chest. Arthur smiles beneath his lips. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

“Me, almost naked in your bed? This isn’t the first time,” Merlin says, mouthing slowly at Arthur’s jaw, his hips starting to grind down on Arthur’s of their own volition. Arthur moans and arches up against him. Merlin only grinds harder. Arthur’s breath becomes more ragged.

“Ages before that,” he manages. “I have self-control.”

“You are a saint,” Merlin says flatly. “Truly.”

“I, ah. I must be. _God_ , Merlin,” Arthur gasps, grabbing Merlin’s hips and flipping them over. Merlin fights and gets Arthur on his back in the middle of the bed. He sits up and unties Arthur’s laces.

“You sure about this?” Merlin asks.

“More than sure. Having doubts?”

“About you? No. Never. Never again.”

Merlin meets Arthur’s gaze unblinkingly and swallows dryly. He feels naked, though Arthur’s the one without clothes. Arthur nods, and Merlin feels something _shift_ inside of him. It shocks him, like a bolt of lightning starting in the middle of his chest and radiating down his spine. His vision flashes white and when he can breathe again, Arthur’s arms are around him.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, one hand resting on the space between his shoulder blades.

_Will it? When you know, will it truly be okay?_

Merlin nods, if only to placate Arthur. He pushes Arthur back and divests of the rest of his clothes. Arthur produces a pot of oil and offers it to Merlin.

“Are you sure?” he sputters. He didn’t expect _this_.

“I trust you,” Arthur says solemnly. Arthur takes himself in hand and strokes himself back to fullness, his eyes never leaving Merlin, a slow grin spreading. “Don’t make me do all the work, Merlin.”

“I was enjoying the show,” Merlin counters.

He nudges Arthur’s legs apart and runs his hands along the insides of his thighs. He slaps Arthur’s hand away and takes his cock in his mouth almost halfway down from the start. Arthur lets out a high-pitched, very un-prince-like sound, bucking into Merlin’s mouth. Merlin sucks hard and hollows out his cheeks, pressing his tongue against the underside as he bobs up and down. He draws off and mouths at the tip, tongue pressed to the slit. He tastes bitter, but good. Perfect, even.

Arthur’s broken sob and a frantic pull at Merlin’s hair brings him back to reality.

“I’ll come if you go on,” he warns. He pushes the oil even closer to Merlin. He slicks his fingers and works one in slowly, then another.

“You’re desperate for it,” Merlin teases. He crooks his finger and squeezes the base of Arthur’s cock as he finds the spot that has Arthur almost in tears.

“Fucking – just do it, Merlin! I can’t fucking wait any longer!”

Merlin nods; he won’t admit it, but he can hardly hold back now. He lathers oil over his achingly hard cock and eases into Arthur until he’s fully seated, his balls pressed against Arthur’s arse. He pauses to catch his breath, his arms shaking where they brace Arthur’s body. It feels so good. Arthur pushes back against him impatiently.

“ _Move_ , Merlin!”

“Figures you’d be a prat even in bed,” he mutters. He pulls almost all the way out before slamming right back in. Merlin sees stars for a moment, but Arthur looks almost gone. Merlin grins and does it again.

“I’m not going to last,” he gasps after the third thrust.

“Me neither,” Merlin grits out.

“Good. Don’t hold back.”

He doesn’t. He slams into him over and over, expending energy Merlin didn’t even know he had, until Arthur’s almost doubled over, Merlin’s face close enough to press a kiss to his lips. He thrusts and thrusts, moving slightly until he finds that spot and it drives Arthur into a frenzy. His fingers dig into Merlin’s side and arse, nails leaving angry red scratches. Merlin’s hips falter, the rhythm becoming harder to maintain. He thrusts shallowly as the warmth starts to overtake him. Merlin catches Arthur’s lips, folding his fingers through Arthur’s and pressing their hands into the pillows by their heads, murmuring,

“My prince. Arthur. _Arthur_.”

They come within seconds of each other, Arthur noisily, Merlin almost silently but for the hushed litany of Arthur’s name streaming from his lips. He falls on Arthur’s chest and Arthur’s arms curl around his waist as they catch their breath. The room is cool and dark as the sweat settles on Merlin’s skin.

“Don’t go yet,” Arthur says, his lips in Merlin’s hair. Merlin turns his face toward him, his cheek pressed against Arthur’s damp shoulder. He traces the hair on his chest lazily.

“I’m not.”

“You will,” Arthur says, shutting his eyes, “or I will. One of us will have to leave this bed sooner or later.”

“You could rule your kingdom from bed,” Merlin smiles. “We’d never have to leave. You could open the curtains once a day, shout at some knights, throw something at a servant….”

“What about you?”

“I’d be sucking your cock while you try to be stately,” Merlin says. Arthur laughs, puffing into his hair.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“You’d get nothing done.”

“If that’s what it took to keep you here.”

“I’m not leaving you again, Arthur,” Merlin frowns. He props himself up on one elbow. “You need me.”

“Apparently. Merlin, look….”

“Do you want an apology for hurting all those people? You won’t get one,” Merlin says, his voice coming out far more tremulous that he intended.

“It wasn’t right. Surely you know that.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“You will not do it again. I forbid it,” Arthur says evenly. He sounds too tired for Merlin to take it as a true order.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe,” Merlin says honestly. “I’d killed for you before, ages before all this.”

“Merlin—”

“Your knights have done the same.”

“You’re not a knight! You’re—”

“A sorcerer.”

Arthur falls silent. “Yes. You are.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Will I be your secret, then? Will I need to hide, go back to pretending to be a simple servant?” Merlin asks. “I will. If that’s what it takes, I will, though I expect people in the palace will give me funny looks.”

“You’ve been dead for so long,” Arthur says. He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls away from Merlin. “I hate that no one told me. My father shouldn’t have lied.”

“He was protecting you,” Merlin says. “He told me to leave a while before, so this wouldn’t happen, but I couldn’t leave you.”

“Then he forced you out,” Arthur says. He shakes his head.

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“Do you wish him dead?”

“Not anymore.”

Arthur looks at him curiously. “Why not?”

“He’s your father,” Merlin says simply. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you like that. He’s all you have, terrible and tyrannical as he is.”

“And Morgana?” 

Merlin’s whole body reacts. Arthur turns to him and takes his hand firmly.

“She’s the root of it all, now that Morgause is gone. I have to end this,” Merlin says, gaze fixed on a fold the sheets in his lap.

“Not now,” Arthur says. He pulls Merlin back into the bed until he relents and curls into Arthur’s side. Arthur’s cradles him protectively and Merlin lets himself relax for once.

“I’m still angry and hurt, and that’s a massive understatement,” Arthur says quietly, “but I can’t think of anything to say about it right now.”

“I know,” Merlin sighs, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s middle. “I missed you, too.”

Once Arthur falls asleep, Merlin extinguishes the candles with his magic. They’re so intricately entwined, Merlin can’t quite tell where their bodies start and finish. They blend together so perfectly that Merlin finally feels different. He doesn’t feel the emptiness for the first time since his mother’s death. He’s not quite whole, but he knows that here, with Arthur, he can work toward feeling whole again.

 

* * *

 

 

Merlin sleeps better than he has in many months. The sun comes up, but they don’t rouse until someone knocks on the door. Arthur wakes with a start.

“Go!” he whispers. Merlin pulls the curtains tightly around the bed after throwing Arthur’s trousers from last night at him. He shoots Arthur a grin before casting a spell on the curtains and falling back against the pillows.

He feels pleasant and content, until he hears what Sir Leon says to Arthur.

Uther continues to fail, the Skeleton Boy is gone again (thankfully, Leon doesn’t notice the telltale cloak bunched up in the corner of the room on the floor), and more nobles have arrived to pay their respects, including—

“Ah, Agravaine,” Arthur says over the rustle of chainmail. “I haven’t seen my uncle in years.”

“He says he made haste and wishes to see you at once.”

“Good. Tell him I’ll meet him in the council chambers shortly.”

The door opens and closes. Merlin retracts the magic on the curtains and scrambles for his trousers before tumbling off the bed. He falls flat on his back, his head buzzing angrily. He opens his eyes and sees Arthur standing over him, looking both annoyed and amused.

“You’ve learned no grace, even as a mercenary.”

“Mercenary’s not quite right,” Merlin grumbles, sitting up. Arthur offers him a hand. Arthur pulls him to his feet too quickly and Merlin trips into his arms.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re still clumsy as ever,” Arthur says. Merlin rolls his eyes and kisses him. Several minutes later, when the kissing has evolved into something a little more involved and their clothes are almost in disarray, Arthur pulls back, gasping like a drowning man.

“I have to go,” he says, looking terribly regretful. “I need to go meet with my uncle, but I’ll be back as soon as possible. I’ve got a few hours before a council meeting at noon, and I can have a bath sent up for us.”

“No, Arthur, wait!”

“I promise I’ll hear everything you have to say. I want to hear it all,” Arthur says, dashing for the door as he buckles his sword around his waist, “but right now, I need to run.”

“Arthur!” Merlin shouts, running to the door. He pokes his head in the hall. Arthur reappears and kisses him chastely before hurrying away in a most dignified manner, leaving Merlin in a proper panic.


	11. Chapter 11

He paces the length of the room several times before dressing in his tattered clothes and donning his cloak. He casts his usual glamour strongly enough to keep anyone from recognizing him, even by the cloak. It only shocks him a little that even after everything that had happened with Arthur he still feels most at home in this skin. He knows Arthur will hate him when he realizes the truth of it all, but Merlin can’t afford to think like that right now.

Merlin pulls the hood over his head and slides into the empty hall. There’s no buzz, no echo of screams in his ears. He feels the hole in his chest, but it’s changing shape, evolving. Merlin moves fast. Time is running out.

He passes the council chambers and hears their voices within. Agravaine has a certain oily quality about his tone, something unnaturally smooth and welcoming about his words that makes Merlin’s skin crawl. He doesn’t remain long, though. He continues on to Uther’s chambers.

It’s still too easy for Merlin to distract the guards just long enough for him to slip into the room. The air smells of sickness, of death lurking in the shadows. So Merlin goes to the shadows, not once looking at where Uther barely breathes, and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long. He draws the small blade on his belt and cuts his hand; he lathers the blood on his face, whispering the incantation for what Merlin hopes is the last time. He falls more deeply into the shadows.

The door closes and sure feet take long strides across the room. Agravaine moves with purpose. Merlin can feel the anger boiling under his skin, making his own blood sing. He unsheathes his blade and steps out of the shadows. Agravaine is bent over Uther’s body, saying something quietly to him. Uther just barely begins to stir.

Agravaine swings a dagger into the middle of Uther’s chest before Merlin can so much as shout. But he does shout.

“No!”

Agravaine drops the blade, blood dripping from his leather gloves. Merlin holds the blade out and starts to grin as all color leaves Agravaine’s face.

“You! Morgana—”

“You should not have done this,” Merlin says, cornering the man. Agravaine reaches into his cloak and throws another knife. Merlin twists and the knife clatters loudly on the other side of the room. Merlin presses the end of his blade into Agravaine’s neck.

“Hold still,” Merlin says, pressing his palm to Agravaine’s forehead. The man gasps as he presses his magic forward and finds the information he needs – Morgana’s location.

“Do you know who I am?” Merlin asks quietly when he releases him.

“The Skeleton Boy,” he says.

“Sometimes, but today, I’m just a man with a sword,” Merlin says. “I don’t need my magic to kill you.”

He starts to cut the side of Agravaine’s neck, only to pull back. For a short moment, a wild flash of hope crosses Agravaine’s face and lights up his dark eyes. He’s so unlike Arthur, even Morgana. In the end, he isn’t worth the effort of swinging a sword.

Merlin’s eyes shine gold, the corner lighting up ever so slightly, and Agravaine crumples, neck broken.

“Consider yourself lucky,” he murmurs. Merlin drops the sword and turns to Uther, whose chest is scarlet and sticky.

He works fast, tearing away the fabric until he can get to the wounds. All three are in bad shape, but the newest one is the one that’ll kill him. His guttural breaths, his wide, unseeing eyes sliding from side to side in their sockets – it almost sets Merlin over the edge. His hands shake, but he can trust his magic. It fills him and overflows onto Uther, healing him to the core. Merlin gathers as much of the blood as he can in his hands, pooling it in his palms, savoring the streaks of red on his fingers as the magic seals him up.

The blood trembles between his hands. Merlin swallows dryly. He presses his palms together and cuts off the connection. He gasps and staggers back, his arms red to the elbows. He clutches at his body, feeling thin and hollow all over again.

On the bed, Uther breathes deeply and evenly. Merlin stands shakily. His vision clouds up with darkness, but he steadies himself.

To Merlin’s horror, Uther’s eyes are wide open and clear, staring right at him. Merlin blinks.

“You.”

Merlin feels a flare of anger, of hatred. The last time he faced the man like this was when Uther commanded he be left in the forest to die. How much Merlin endured since then tears a hole down his middle.

He almost breaks the king’s neck, but instead, he chooses to raise his hands, palms open and bloody.

“You did this.”

“I did not harm you,” Merlin says evenly. Merlin nods at Agravaine’s body. Uther’s face twists.

“You murdered him! Guards!”

“He tried to kill you, Uther. I saved you.”

“You are a sorcerer. You lie as easily as you breathe,” Uther sneers. Color returns to his face as though he didn’t have three grave wounds in his chest not ten minutes ago. Typical. Merlin throws the window open.

“Believe what you will, Uther, but sorcery just saved your bloody life.”

He transforms and flies from the tower, leaving Uther red-faced and agape. Triumph or not, Merlin flies north with only one all-consuming target in mind now.

Morgana awaits.

 

* * *

 

The castle is a dark, clean silhouette against the clear dark blue sky. The moon shines brilliantly. Merlin waits in the trees until night falls to go to the ground and transform. He entertains the thought of becoming someone else one last time, but Morgana knows his magic; he wouldn’t be able to fool her long enough to kill her. No. Merlin approaches the castle gates without a trace of a disguise.

He waits a grand total of five minutes in the courtyard before Morgana descends from the depths beyond the walls. Merlin’s magic itches to lash out, to set her mind on fire and see how she enjoys it. He restrains himself, though, and waits.

“You have some nerve coming here,” she hisses. “I should cut you down.”

“Probably,” Merlin agrees, “but you know I’m not afraid of you.”

“That’s your mistake, then.”

“Are you going to fight me, Morgana?” Merlin asks. “You learned magic from me, and then we both learned from Morgause.”

“I learned more from her than you’ll ever know,” she says, “and you took her from me.”

“She lied to me, and so did you. She lied to _you_.”

“To me?” Morgana says with a stilted laugh. “We wanted you to stay straight on the right path, Merlin. That’s all. We did everything we could to help you. You’ve brought this on yourself.”

“Maybe,” Merlin says, taking a step toward Morgana, choosing his words carefully, “but your reasons were selfish. You learned that from Morgause, too.”

“Maybe, but it’ll get me what we all need in the end.”

Morgana pulls out a knife.

“Now. Enough talking.”

“Did you say Uther poisoned you?” Merlin says. Morgana falters again. “Tell me what happened. I want to know.”

“Why?”

“I just do. I want to help you, too.”

Morgana doesn’t lower the knife, but she says, “I told you everything. We were at dinner. My goblet was poisoned. I ran out of there as soon as I knew what was happening.”

“Morgause poisoned you.”

“That’s absurd.”

“I’ve spoken to Arthur, to the servants who were there that night, to Gwen,” Merlin pauses, watching Morgana carefully, but he sees nothing in her cold eyes, “and they all said everything had been tested. The wine was the same as what Uther and Arthur drank. Came from the same pitcher and everything.”

“You fool,” she sneers. “You’ve been taken up in their lies so easily.”

“Morgause was right there, Morgana. Isn’t that a little strange?”

“She heard me! She felt my pain!” Morgana shouts, her voice catching. Her cheeks fill with blood. “I loved her, and she loved me. Of course she knew.”

“Even then? You’d met her… twice before?” Merlin says, circling closer to Morgana. “I’m willing to bet Morgause was there. I bet she disguised herself as a servant, or she used magic to get the poison in your wine. She planned it all, Morgana. She orchestrated what happened to you so that you’d run right into her arms.”

“Stop, Merlin.”

“I won’t,” he says calmly, “because it’s true. She had a hand in twisting you.”

Morgana roars and throws Merlin back across the courtyard. He hits the ground hard, the uneven stonework bruising his back painfully. Morgana is almost upon him when he manages to stand.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Merlin?” Morgana says. Her eyes glint with glee.

“I am.”

“And Uther? Have you found love in your heart for him where you now find hatred for me?”

“I could never love Uther Pendragon,” Merlin says, taking a ragged breath, “not after all he’s done, but for you… well, you and Morgause helped carve out the hole in my chest, didn’t you? So if there’s a space there just for you, it’s because _you_ created it.”

Morgana hurls her magic at him, and Merlin dives out of the way, the fire grazing the end of his cloak. He struggles to his feet. Morgana begins to laugh.

“It’s only so because you let us,” she says, taking uneven steps toward him. “You say you’re so high and mighty and strong? Then why did you listen to us? You liked it. You _wanted_ it. You’re no better than us and don’t you dare think otherwise.”

The moon shines through her hair, a mess of curls and knots on her head, like a fragile, transparent crown. He starts for her, reaching out, but Morgana’s magic catches his hand and _twists_ until he’s screaming. Merlin is on his knees, clutching his mangled hand.

“I learned from the best,” she says, raising the knife to his neck.

“Yes,” Merlin pants, his bones setting back into place slowly, loudly. “You learned from _me._ ”

He doesn’t hold back now. Merlin’s glad for the empty space in the courtyard, the barren walls against which her screams bounce back and forth. Morgana writhes, and her pale skin blooms with red, and underneath all her beauty and bitterness she’s made of the same stuff as all the men Merlin murdered for her: she is still made of blood. Merlin gathers it on his hands, and wipes a tear from her face as an afterthought. His finger leaves a pale red streak on her cheek. Her chest rises and falls shallowly, erratically.

“I never wanted this for you,” Merlin says softly. “I am sorry for what you became.”

He gives her a merciful death, cutting her neck right where he knows it will end her suffering most quickly. Finally, after everything, he knows he’s given Morgana what she always needed: peace and quiet in her mind, and a world in which she would not be judged for who she is at her core. Among the dead, there is no reason to judge.

Merlin wipes her blood on his trousers, right where he dried his hands of Uther’s blood as well, before standing and looking up at the castle. The windows are dark. Not a single face looks out. Merlin can’t feel a single stitch of life in the structure apart from his own heart.

He scoops Morgana up off the ground and carries her into the forest. The earth parts for them, the grass dipping low to cradle her broken body. Merlin moves a piece of hair out of her face and lets the ground swallow her. When the hole seals up, he can feel a knot in the fabric of nature, or in his magic, relax completely. Merlin exhales, yet he feels like his insides are rattling about in a massive empty space.

He piles stones on the spot where Morgana lies and turns his back on the place.

 

* * *

 

Merlin walks back to Camelot. When he gets close enough for the patrols to find him in the early morning, he dons the Skeleton Boy once more. It is Sir Leon who discovers him eating an apple under a tree on the edge of the Darkling Wood with a calm look schooled on his face. He doesn’t resist the arrest nor does he deny the charges of murdering Agravaine. Merlin stays entirely silent, even when they accuse him of attempting to kill the king as well. It hardly matters.

He is meant for the pyre, no matter what the charges are. Merlin goes willingly to the cells, and he finds he almost missed them – it’s still Camelot down there after all. It’s a pleasure to be able to rest on the pallet there compared to the forest floor. There, he can forget Morgana’s screams, though they are fading fast.

The guards tell him the next morning that he’s to go on trial at noon. Merlin nods and waits. Only, with less than an hour until the trial, he hears Arthur’s curt voice.

“You’re dismissed.”

“Sire, we cannot leave the prisoner unattended. He’s is a—”

“I know what he is,” Arthur snaps. “Go. I wish to speak with him alone, and you will not mention this to my father.”

The guards walk away. Arthur materializes before Merlin’s cell. He crosses his arms.

“Well,” he says, then stops. Merlin drops the Skeleton Boy after a few moments. Arthur looks shocked for a moment, then horrified. “I – you said, but I hoped—”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin blurts. Arthur’s eyes narrow, his face turning cold and angry. “I am, but this is how things are now.”

“You healed him,” Arthur says. Merlin nods. “He knows it, and he still wants to have you executed.”

“For killing Agravaine.”

“Did you?”

“He’s the one who tried to kill Uther!” Merlin says, frustrated. “I was waiting in there. I went as soon as you said Agravaine was here.”

“Wait – you _knew_ he would do something?”

“Not exactly. It’s a long story, but I had a hunch that he was in league with Morgana,” Merlin says. “He hated Uther.”

“Then… thank you.”

Merlin looks away.

“Come closer,” Arthur says. “Now, Merlin.”

He can’t help but smile as he approaches the bars. Arthur covers one of Merlin’s hands with his own, but he doesn’t smile back at him.

“You’re not the man I knew,” Arthur says quietly.

“No.”

“Have you enchanted me?”

“No. I never—”

“I wouldn’t know that,” he says.

“You said you’d hear me out. You’ll hate me more for it, but….”

“It’s too late for that now,” Arthur replies. “They’ve set up the pyre in the courtyard. There just isn’t time.”

Arthur shuts his eyes tightly. Merlin can feel the war raging inside him, the knowledge of what Merlin is now battling with memory of the friend he once had.

“I can find a way to break you out,” Arthur says, eyes snapping open, his voice thick with desperation, confusion. Merlin shakes his head vigorously.

“No, Arthur,” he says. Merlin takes a steadying breath.

“Let me burn,” Merlin says. His chest constricts with practiced fear, but Merlin pushes onward. “I’ve given this a lot of thought, and… they call me the Skeleton Boy. That’s who they arrested. Let Uther execute him.”

“You’ll still die, you idiot!”

“I don’t think I will,” Merlin says with a small smile. “There’s something the druids call me. Something that took me until today to understand. When a guard first called me the skeleton boy, it was because I was so thin from being locked up down here. But they were flogging me, and I wasn’t dying. They called me the immortal, too, and the druids call me Emrys. It means immortal in the language of the Old Religion.”

“You can’t seriously be considering this,” Arthur says, shaking his head. His grip on Merlin’s hands on the bars is painful.

“I haven’t even told you my plan yet!”

“You don’t have to. You plan to go ahead with the execution, hoping you’ll live just because a couple of sorcerers think you can’t die!”

“Why is that so bad? I’ve certainly earned it!” Merlin hisses.

“I won’t lose you again,” Arthur hisses. Merlin feels ill.

“Even if I’m a murderer with so much blood on my hands?”

“Yes,” Arthur says, almost exasperated.

“You’re wrong. You’re so, so wrong,” Merlin says, turning away, his throat constricting around the words he speaks. “Let the old Merlin go. He’s gone.”

He can’t look back at Arthur. He faces the wall until Arthur speaks again in a rough, cool voice.

“What about the new you? Do you not want to leave all this behind?” he asks, waving a hand at Merlin’s cloak and bloodstained fingernails.

“I do,” he says firmly. It’s all he’s been able to think about since burying Morgana – and how impossible it seems. “That’s why I’m suggesting—”

“What you’re suggesting is proper,” Arthur says slowly. “You’ve certainly earned it, if the rumors are true about the Skeleton Boy.” 

“Yeah.”

Arthur meets his eye, searching for something. Finally he pulls away from Merlin, leaving his sweaty fingers to curl around the grimy bars instead of Arthur’s hand.

“I hoped… what we did that night was – I enjoyed it.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says. For the first time his eyes prickle. “That was the first time I felt like my old self again. Only with you, Arthur.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens as he turns his face away from Merlin.

“I don’t want to watch you burn,” Arthur says, his voice tight and strained. “Whoever you are, you’re still too much like someone I – I loved.”

“ _Arthur_.”

“But they’re gone now.”

“Arthur, please—”

“Shut up! You know what you’ve done! How can you act like it’s nothing?”

“It’s not! I know it isn’t! I know what I’ve done and I’ve become a monster.”

“There is nothing good left in you. I should have helped you, and I blamed myself for not doing everything I could, but I see now that it wasn’t any use. You were always a monster,” Arthur says coldly. Merlin feels something in his chest break open.

“Listen. Arthur just _listen_ ,” Merlin says tremulously. “The earth can heal me and give me a fresh chance. When I burn and return, I’ll start anew, no scars, no horrors, nothing that led me to be like this. I can start all over.”

“But I won’t forget what you became.”

“Let me try. Please, just – trust that this will work. Let me try an—”

“You’ll burn whether I like it or not,” Arthur says, sounding tired and resigned all of a sudden. The darkness of the dungeons makes him look sickly and too old for his young skin. “I wish things weren’t like this.”

“Me, too,” Merlin says, looking down. “I truly am sorry for what I’ve done to you.”

“And to the others?”

“It doesn’t much matter now, does it? It’s over. It’s made me this,” he says, waving at his clothes, “and I’m starting to think nothing I do can rectify it.”

“That’s probably true.”

Merlin nods. He feels like his neck is broken already, like he’s a husk with a soul hanging by a thread inside, waiting for the final act of pressure to release him. The look of pure hurt and sadness and disdain on Arthur’s face just might be the nail in his coffin.

“Merlin,” Arthur says suddenly, “what if you return and nothing’s changed?”

Merlin opens his mouth but he finds he has no explanation for how he inherently knows it cannot happen. Arthur purses his lips and look away, nudging a flagstone with the tip of his boot.

“I believe in you, Arthur,” Merlin says finally. “I always have, always will.”

“You words mean nothing to me now,” Arthur says so quietly Merlin almost doesn’t hear them. But he does, and these are the words he’ll take with him.

“Sire,” a guard says from down the hall. Merlin jumps back from the bars and turns away, hastily pulling his disguise back on. “The King wants him now.”

Merlin looks over his shoulder at Arthur. He looks like a boy, like a simple man, not a prince with power and influence.

“Of course,” Arthur says, stepping aside to let the guards unlock his door. Merlin casts one more look at Arthur as he’s led away, desperately hoping Arthur can read his last apology, but Merlin remembers too late that he’s wearing a mask.

The trial is quick. He confesses. He gives his account of what happened, but he does not deny killing Agravaine. He mentions Morgana, but he doesn’t explain further. When Uther, practically spitting blood, demands more, Merlin says simply that she’s no longer a threat to him.

Uther sentences him to the pyre awaiting him in the courtyard. Arthur stands beside the king as he climbs the steps of the pyre. The Skeleton Boy, on his pedestal of firewood framed by a silent, horrified crowd, looks up at them. He tries to memorize Arthur, to go with something good on the inside of his eyelids, to have something beautiful in mind to wake to when it’s all over, but the look on Arthur’s face doesn’t make him want to wake at all.

The ropes chafe his wrists, digging into old wounds where Aredian had bound and tortured him. His tolerance for pain has gotten better since then, at least. The fire hurts at first, but the smoke clogs his nose quickly enough to make his world tilt and slide away. When the first flames break through his clothes and reach his skin, setting the hairs on his legs and the patches of melted fabric on fire, Merlin cries out, but it’s mostly in shock. It doesn’t hurt. His magic pulses through him, fills the hole in his chest until the fire melts it into a shiny plate of armor.

And then, it’s silent. It’s dark, and it is quieter than a wintry night with gently falling snow. Merlin can hear nothing but the blood in his ears. There’s no screaming, no crying, no crackling wood. He breathes deeply, and for a moment he can smell the scent of Arthur’s hair as it was only a few mornings ago, tickling his nose. It starts to hurt like a thousand arms wrenching him apart, trying to bury pieces of him in every corner of the five kingdoms. Merlin’s magic acts fast. He feels himself lift out of his body and he’s stronger for it. Darkness gives way to light, and the silence persists.

At last, Merlin has peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you've enjoyed this rather messed up tale. I truly appreciate all the kudos and comments left here as this story was posted (and hopefully I'll have time to reply to some now that the whole story is up, once RL calms down a tad). Again, thanks!!


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